


Simple Turn of Fate

by Arasa17



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arasa17/pseuds/Arasa17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lord Sauron plots to conquer modern-day earth once Arda is his. His plans go awry however, when Lord Elrond interferes, and he kidnaps a young nurse instead of a Marine officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sparks of yellow sunlight streamed through the branches of Imladris.   
A brisk wind sent the leaves skittering and whirling through the treetops. It was fall here, auburn and tinges of orange splashed through every trunk over a wet carpet of fallen leaves. A fresh, cool smell hung in the air though, like moist earth and dry cold air meeting, the sunlight warm and distant between. 

A white mount spattered in flecks of gray kicked up a shallow slope, following an old, barely worn trail that wound with serpentine grace in and through the trees near the valley where Rivendell rested. The elf glanced to the sun, noting its position in the sky. It hung low, just over the hills until it shot pale, yellow rays of light in dusty, streaming banners through the trees. It wouldn’t be long now, mid-day tomorrow perhaps, before the company reached the gates of Imladris. 

These woods bode well with the elf though, and with his company. There was life and light in these trees. He could feel it; it was fresh and invigorating. They sang in the wind the way the trees of his Homewood did before the darkness came, before the spiders wove their filthy spell over his beloved lands… He breathed it in, slitting his eyes closed and relishing the feel of the breeze flagging through his hair, whistling through the branches and -

Suddenly, the voice of his captain, Faenor, rode up beside and dragged him from his reverie. 

“My lord,” he looked up, “We will rest the horses tonight?” Faenor glanced to the small party they led. 

His companions felt the tedious weeks of travel as much as he did, but it was really the mounts who needed to save strength. He nodded slightly, looking onward, “Come nightfall.” 

A few minutes passed, riding at an easy pace and watching the spreading shadows of lean trunks pass along the path with the waning sunlight. They passed over his face like great giants, trunks of all shapes and sizes growing into a single cloak of leaves weaving and fluttering in the wind. 

“What troubles you, Faenor?” The elf asked finally. The captain’s eyes were dark like his ebony hair, a strange thing for a Mirkwood elf, but they mirrored his own: unrest. 

Something was stirring, something dark, something that overshadowed the fringe edges of thought. Yet beyond that, he couldn’t quite place it. It was much the same feeling that thickened the air when the spiders fought at his people’s borders, yet it shouldn’t be here. The Dark One had no power here, or at least it shouldn’t, so why did he feel it? 

“I know not, my lord,” Faenor sighed finally, and though the fairer elf was used to it by this time, he couldn’t help wishing the captain could dispense with the formalities. 

My lord…It was grating every time. None of their group would mind, he was sure of that. Besides, they’d travelled together many times, including patrolling the borders of his father’s lands. Did he never lose vigilance? What made it worse was the captain always promised to remember his wishes and comply, at least whenever possible... yet always failed. 

Instead of commenting on it, he inhaled deeply, glancing out through the woods. “I will be glad to reach our destination, in any case.” When Mithrech strayed a little, he nudged the mare back with a heel. “They say the lord of Imladris has succeeded in fending the darkness from his borders, so far.” 

He followed his gaze, nodding slowly. A few quiet moments passed, and when he was sure the proper time had passed for the topic to close, riding at an easy pace in a staggered line down the narrow trail… Faenor spoke up, 

“My lord…?” 

His jaw clenched, but he glanced over , an azure blue shaded under dark lashes. The title was annoying, but there was concern embedded in his second-in-command’s eyes. 

“How think you? Will the Lord Elrond take our news well?” he asked, apparently oblivious. 

The path ahead widened a little, and he waited until they rode side by side to answer. His voice dropped. “I have met him in years past; wisdom and understanding are his. I am loathe to tell of it, but he will know the misfortune was unavoidable.” 

“One may hope, my lord.” 

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He sighed. “Faenor…” 

“My lord?” 

“…please.” 

It took a minute, but on the receiving end of a vaguely disparaging look, the captain nodded once, “Very well…” he smirked, “…my lord.” 

'My lord' couldn’t stop the smile from twitching free. 

So the sun passed overhead until it rested as just a glow. He was trained as a warrior, a sixth sense always alert and ready, but he found himself relaxing into the moderate pace, swaying gently with the horse’s stride.

It didn’t bother him, not particularly, but he really was unused to riding like this… It was the first time in decades. Usually, if there was anywhere to be gone, he made it on the pathways woven through the trees, or those on the ground. Still, it was a faster mode of travel and the Valar knew any time saved was a gift. 

A brisk wind shivered through the treetops overhead, but he didn’t feel the chill. It was cool, invigorating. They kicked down a sharp slope and climbed a rise, giving his mount its head and focusing on the rough earth before…

Suddenly, he whipped his head up and grabbed at the reins for control. 

In the ravine just beneath, resting face down and sprawled in a matted bed of leaves… was a woman. Or at least he thought it was. What in Valar’s name? 

The horse stumbled and nearly ran over her, and he wrenched her head around. He whipped back and threw a finger into the air, and his company, not a step behind, followed suit. 

Dirt spat up behind and she couldn’t quite stop, and after skidding through the leaves and snorting, she slowed and pivoted around the still body in the earth. He stared, grimacing. What in sweet Eru’s name was an elleth doing on the borders? These woods were still dangerous. Orc raids were a frequent occurrence a day’s ride from here. What was she doing? She was dressed… he whipped his head around, getting a better look… ridiculously! 

But, the instant of confusion was snapped short. Even as his company’s mounts stamped and circled under silent command…he realized she was moving. Well, perhaps groaning would be the better word. 

She pushed up onto one arm, tangled hair shoving out of the dirt, only to peer through the blur of horse legs a single, blank instant. Her gaze was a blend of blue and green, smudged with dirt and lifted, widened… before she screamed. 

The shrill sound sent his horse leaping forward in a panic and his companions staring at her in wide-eyed horror. She scrambled backward, and if her choked off shouts were anything to go by…terrified. Wasn’t this mission enough? Wasn’t the fact that he was responsible for every ellon in his group enough? Obviously not…he frowned. 

What had the great spirits cursed him with now?


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty-four hours earlier… 

“Laine!” 

I look up with a start. The heavy pack sags and I heft it back, grabbing onto a passing tree. The dirt skids out and I scramble for a foothold, before peering upward. It involves clinging to the sparse underbrush with one hand, strangling a young birch with the other and scratching both knees , but I manage not to slip again.

“What?” I shout back. 

“Come on, girl!” Meghan, already at the top, runs fingers through her spiked hair. She shakes it, sighing a grin that looks out over the spreading hills. “The view’s awesome up here!” 

“Well it leaves something to be desired from down here.” I shoot back, twenty feet under where her combat boots stand, planted firm and spread. She looks not unlike the legendary wonder-woman, standing up there like that, and I can’t stop from muttering. 

“What’s that? Sounds like curses to me.” She grins, “You kiss your mom with that mouth?” 

“Not in the last twenty-five years…” I shimmy over a fallen log, using it as a brace to climb the rest of the slope, grabbing and pulling on branches as I go. 

“You’re not even twenty-three.” She states somewhat flatly, waiting with a self-satisfied smirk and folding her camouflaged, sleeved arms. With the rest of the waving greenery, her dark hair and heavy pants blend with the scenery perfectly. 

“So?” 

“So you couldn’t have fought with your mom before you were born.” 

“We’d manage.” I brace my shoe in a crevice, gathering momentum and reaching for her offered hand, before leaping up the rest of the incline and skidding to my knees. 

“God…” I breathe, collapsing and pivoting to land hard on my seat. My legs are tired and cramped from thirst, and I lean over, panting, before pushing the damp hair from my face.

The setting sun casts a yellow, beauteous light over the distant hills, Mount Mitchell, and the faint shimmer of Asheville beneath, sitting like a painted picture on a sea of blue-green. 

“Mountain climbing is not my idea of vacation.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead and scrub my neck with trembling fingers, feeling, weak, overheated and cold at the same time, exhausted, excited…and hungry. 

“It’s hardly a mountain.” She says from somewhere behind, and though I slump against the smooth, cool skin of a tree, overlooking the distant greens and yellows, she’s already setting up camp. “And whatever happened to that great training workout you’ve told me about these last three years, Laine? You should be in shape.” 

“Twenty push-ups before bedtime and a three mile run is not exactly scaling Mt. Everest. Besides…” I sniff, shooting a glance, “…it wasn’t me who ran off to the Marines. You’re the Xena reincarnate.” 

I register that she laughs at that, but not enough to look again. I’m too tired for that. It isn’t the woods that I mind so much, or even the exercise…I guess…but my Minnesota, summer thermostat isn’t set for North Carolina mountains. 

I tilt my head back, breathing a little slower, before taking in a drought of thin, cool air. The pines send an acrid, almost heady sensation to the air, thick and fresh. I rub my arms vigorously, digging through my pack for something edible, before setting to gracefully gnawing on a protein bar. 

“So, you never told me whatever dragged you from school.” She speaks up. The sun nears the hills already, and I glance over, only to find the sharp smoke puffing into the woods coming from the fire she’s made appear with just a little bundle of sticks and a lighter, “Or why you drove all the way from Minnesota just to visit me.” 

“I needed a break, I guess.” I shrug, before grinning, “What better place than Camp Lejeune, North Carolina?” 

She glances up at this, ruffling her hair and knocking the dirt from it, before resuming tending the gusting flame. “I don’t know…anywhere? You’re not the military type; more the ‘run five miles, do some yoga and call it quits’, type.” 

“Well, you’re right there.” I crawl over on hands and knees, holding my hands up to the fire’s heat.

The last sprays of yellow light shoot over the horizon, but dimly, so dusky shadows sink over the surrounding trees. The little fire seems to glow brighter, and I rub my eyes, feeling them burn in the cool air.

There are many other campers, hikers, and tourists on the mountain, but it feels like there’s not another soul for miles. Only the faint wind blowing through the trees breaks the quiet, and it’s an almost unsettling difference to the city. 

“So, what? Aren’t you glad to see me?” I look up, crumpling the wrapper and tossing it to a nearby bush. I ignore the frown glanced my way as she retrieves it, evidently her old boot-camp ‘cleanliness’ kicking in, before settling down cross-legged. 

“Of course I am.” 

I flick up a smirk, only a little dark. “Or have you found yourself a new best friend?” 

“Of course not,” She looks up, shadowed eyes narrowing a little, “What’s up with you, Laine?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you haven’t been right ever since you got here, and yesterday you nearly snapped that guy’s head off with that road-rage of yours. Don’t you even want to be here? I didn’t ask, you know.” 

I stare at her a long minute, wondering if I should bother…before glancing away, sighing. “I don’t know. Just ignore me.” 

Her dark eyes don’t shift, a dusky haze settling on the evening air. I try to ignore it, but it never quite leaves. 

“Boyfriend trouble?” she sighs finally. 

“Oh geez,” I snap, “I don’t have a boyfriend, already." That topic has been the one covering most phone calls recently, and I have a feeling my co-worker Drew, in all his persistent glory, has gotten hold of her number. “And no, it’s not that.” 

“What, then?” 

I sigh, resting on a knee and cupping my chin. The air is rapidly turning colder, faint creaking of crickets filling the air and settling in the quiet, before I glance up once. “Bob thinks I should join the marines.” 

She blinks, but only once. “What?” 

I nod slightly, “Yup. He thinks I should follow in your footsteps.” 

“Why would Dad even bring that up again? He knows how you feel.” 

“I know he knows, but I also know he knows-” I cut off, sighing and covering my face, before slapping them down. “He knows. He just doesn’t care.” 

“What does Sheryl think?” 

“Who cares?” 

“She is your mother.” Her eyes darken. “You should care.” 

“Well, I don’t.” 

She exhales slowly, “Laine…aren’t you ever going to grow up?” 

I flash my eyes up to hers, before pointing. “Don’t get all big sister on me, lieutenant.” 

“Oh, come on!” She protests, throwing her hands into the air. “We are sisters now…technically, right?” 

I look at her, before shaking my head, “Sure.” 

I don’t give the air a chance to turn heavy, or that dead silence that falls in the wake of awkwardness. We were friends long before Bob, her father, married my mother. I only needed to adapt my way of life for a year before moving out on my own, and I’m glad my friendship with Meghan never suffered. So I lean back and fold an arm under my head, feeling it and wondering how fatigue could overpower hunger so fast.

“It doesn’t matter. I told him ‘no’.” I sigh finally. “I just wanted a little vacation, that’s all. Give him a chance to let it go, you know?” 

“So that’s why you’re here.” She nods, lifting a sage brow. 

I nearly laugh, settling deeper in the ground and glancing over. “Wow, you’ve earned those stripes tonight.”

“Why don’t you just go to sleep?” She rolls her eyes, grinning and settling back. 

I merely sigh, lifting my eyes to the faint, purple sky, before climbing down into my sleeping bag and settling. Thankfully, the needles on the forest floor feel better through a mattress… 

“Meghan?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Goodnight.” 

“Night…twerp.” 

I smile. 

We’ve been up since three o’clock this morning, driving and hiking, and we still barely reached our goal for sunset. Slowly, I feel my eyes slip shut, and I listen to the night sounds. Spreading out over the distant heavens lies a clear sky. I couldn’t ask for a better view of the silver pinpricks slowly shining into view. 

A whir fills the air, slow and fast creaking…crickets. The breeze sends the leaves whispering like paper, and sometime, somewhere between the thin veil of sleep and semi-conscious thought, I listen to the waving of the treetops in the wind. In the faint, monotonous background, I picture every leaf in the millions like it, fluttering in the gusts of night breeze, tossing aimlessly back and forth… quiet…sleep…

The night falls like a midnight blanket settling over the mottled hills and rolling forest, and I take in a deep breath, feeling my eyes slip shut... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boom… 

A flash of light explodes and I bolt upright. 

Hazy spots rack my vision and flashes of light and darkness blurs it. I scramble out of my bedroll, fighting a bush to get up, before slipping out and slamming back to my derriere. It isn’t daylight, I realize, whipping my head around, before a gust of powerful wind snatches my breath and I gasp. 

Floods of crimson light flash over the trees and bathe the dirt in red light. Long, vicious shadows lap at the ground, and a terrible drone of deep, garbled whispers fill my head. A brilliant column of blood red fire lights the black with blistering heat, and it fills the open air past the cliff. 

Meghan… I focus, scrubbing my eyes and crawling forward to peer around a young birch… What is she doing? 

Her cropped hair whips back and forth, standing as a silhouette, feet apart and chin thrown back. I just barely see her face in the blowing dust and waves of heat, but her lips move, eyes blank and empty. An ethereal void glows from them, as if every spark of light were drained away, only leaving a hollow, empty shell. 

“Meghan…” I focus, shielding my eyes and cringing to cover my ears at the same time. The roar is thunderous and a terrible, garbled murmuring, like a thousand voices pulses and rises from the darkness. 

“Meghan, what are you doing?” I shout.

With every second, the fierce wind blasts more unbearable heat. I can’t even see her face anymore, before suddenly, the ground shudders violently and I lose my grip. The ground smashes into my face and I cough, wiping my mouth and peering upward…before letting the wind sap away whatever breath I had. 

A swirling black mass has opened. The column of fire is nothing more than the glow around it, and twigs and leaves whip past in a blur, only to be sucked into its vacuum. She pulls back, arms outspread as I watch… before her fingers drop. 

“Meghan…” I shake my head, panting, before staring wide eyed as she slowly takes a step to the opening. I reach out… and before I have time to think, stumble out of the dirt and bolt forward. 

“No!” 

Suddenly, my scream chokes off and the world spins out of control. I don’t even register it. 

My foot hits stone and I careen forward. Fingers reaching to grasp her arms sail past and my head smashes into tree, before the fierce wind, sickening blur and dizziness takes its victim. I feel my body thrown backward and I tumble over the cliff, flailing for a desperate grip on the dirt and failing. 

My stomach lurches, and an instant before the world goes black, a flash of Meghan’s eyes appear. It’s already fading, everything, but not before her eyes, glazed over in a pale, milky white burn its image in my head. 

Even in that moment of complete terror, confusion and panic, fighting to scream and I can’t, I know that image, eyes so cold and lifeless, will stay with me forever…


	3. Chapter 3

Dark…Is it dark? 

It’s the first thing that hits me. Wet, dirty leaves smashed under my face is the next, and I crack my eyes open, feeling the depressions they make in my cheek. A fuzzy, white ringing fills my ears.

I feel terrible. What’s worse is what doesn’t feel terrible…I can’t feel at all. A murky pool sloshes in my head, and a sick, numb sensation writhes in my stomach even as I shift and twist, coughing, before dropping back. Panting helps a little and sweat drops from my forehead, shivering violently at the same time…What’s wrong with me? 

It’s then that I feel something in the palms of my hands... a trembling. Everything else is still. Even the birds are quiet, just an empty, hollow breeze blowing through the trees... _trees_?

Where am I? What happened? I force my lids open a slit, listening to the quiet thrum and-

Suddenly, my stomach gags in my throat and I throw my head back. A harnessed, gray-spattered horse leaps down a slope in a burst of white. It almost skids out in the wet leaves, before rearing to its hind legs with a startled squeal. It’s nothing compared to mine. Piercing blue eyes and a flash of dark hair follows, and a blur of galloping horses slide down behind, throwing dirt in the air. 

I scream. 

Long hair whips around, and I scramble back on my knees. Wet foam drips from the horse mouths, snorting and stamping, sweating and glistening in the cool air. Sheathed blades and long, powerful bows strap to the riders’ backs, and before I even register it, more than one pull long, white fletched arrows from nowhere and leap to the ground. 

Instantly, an arrow tip blocks every escape, and even though I know they’re only three on the ground, it feels like twenty. Just as I consider fainting…or screaming, possibly… backsliding on my derriere and looking around wild-eyed, I catch a glimpse of black. I nearly sing praises…my pack.

“Mani eneth lín?” 

I dive down the half-open bag to my pistil. The cold, heavy metal clears my head some, and I spin around, trying hard not to shake so furiously.

“Get away from me!” I rasp, cutting him off and choking down a swallow, before looking around, wishing there was a rabid dog to kick off, “Back…get back!” 

My head hits horse, and I reel around, feeling like a cornered animal. They look like men, or at least what could be men, but I can’t focus enough to tell what’s wrong with them. They stare an instant, and I’m not sure if it’s shock or anger. If the narrowed, wary glares are any judge to go by, darting over my clothes and back to each other…both.

“Mani?” 

I whip around to the speaker, before nearly losing my breath…again. His hair wafts a little in the breeze, tied from his face in slender braids, an ash-brown similar to the trees. His eyes are the same, like murky pools of water sheltered under a night sky. Even if I could see clearly, and even if I had the words to describe him, I doubt I could... beautiful, maybe. I wonder at myself for the thought, feeling the gun in my fingers sag, and I quickly tighten the grip. 

_Focus._

“Who are you?” My voice squeaks. I curse myself for it, but somehow it’s seized up and it's all I can do. “W-where am I? What happened?” 

“Westron…” someone murmurs. Suddenly, a hand brushes my arm and I reel around. 

A tall, lean form much like the others stands there. He wasn’t expecting it, either the movement or the violence of my reaction, because the instant I lift the gun, he jerks back a step, extending an arm to keep him back. 

I lift my chin, managing to look down my nose at him despite the difference in height, and I summon the fiercest glare I can manage. His flaxen hair flags in the breeze, standing rigid with a dagger in hand. It gleams like his eyes, a pale white against fathomless blue, and they reflect the last sprays of fading sunlight. 

It’s all I can do to avoid crumpling under the stare. It’s narrowed and intense, startled almost. 

“What is your business in these lands?” He speaks with a rich undertone of strained courtesy. It’s just enough to tear my eyes from his silvery, velvet clothes. They drape to his knees on one side, like a poncho engraved in silver thread, clasped at the base of his throat where a smooth collar rests. It waves gently around rustic, green leggings and a shining white bow.

_Who are they?_ I stare blatantly… Delinquent actors? _Fanatics?_

I want to speak, curse, threaten uselessly…something, but all I can manage is a terrified glance. Someone moves into my peripheral vision. There’re at least seven here, seven men, and one me. Yet another approaches from the side, dressed in green and boots to his knees, and I swivel my aim at it. He doesn’t even blink. 

“Ya naa re?” he asks instead, but not me. I glance to who he does. 

“I know not. What is your business here?” The blonde turns to me, “These are…” He stops, glancing over my clothes again, before narrowing his eyes and interrupting himself, “That is strange dress for an… elleth?” 

I blink. “What?” 

“Where do you hail from?” 

“W-what’s an… elleth?” 

“She is most certainly not of the valley.” The first one states. His dark eyes are narrowed, but he looks to the second, the fairer, for confirmation. 

Somehow I have a feeling he’s some kind of authority, because the others inadvertently glance to him too, for answers maybe. The back of my neck tingles, feeling every arrow tip aimed my way, and I swallow at the knot in my throat. It hurts almost as much as standing does, and I tilt my head, peering through burning eyes and weak knees. 

“…she could be a spy for the Dark One.” He answers, as if I weren’t even here. 

“I’m not a spy!” 

They don’t even look, passing a few words back and forth that I don’t catch, before finally, the blue-tinted gaze flicks back to me, shadowed under the evening light. A hushed silence fills the air…and I can’t help but shift back a little. The man’s brows furrow, looking me up, down, and up again, before…

“We take her with us.” He says finally, “Lord Elrond may do what he wishes with her.” 

_What?_

“What?” I parrot my head, before staggering back. I can’t go with them… I have to get home! “No!” 

I throw my fists to the sky and squeeze my eyes shut. The gun explodes and it ripples violently through the trunks, the sound a horrid, alien break in the silent forest. A mass of shrieking birds swoop from the treetops and flap off in a horde, and their squawks drift back to my ears for long minutes after they've faded.

Dead silence… and I crack my eyes open, cringing. What I find though, isn’t what I expected. They’re stunned…staring and frozen, eyes horrified. I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me quite like that before. But my victory is short-lived. 

A blur leaps forward and I dive to the ground, before he grabs my wrist. I shout out, fighting for my grip on the gun and chaos ensues. 

“Caun nín…” 

“Get back!” 

The gun twists out of my grip and I can’t stop it, but the instant I wrench out of his hands, he throws it into the leaves and pulls me off my feet. I can’t escape the vice-like grip, and suddenly, instinct takes over. 

Just as the rest step back and the circle breaks, I relax in his grip and let him pull me forward, panicked and mind a blur… before I jam my knee in his crotch. 

Suddenly… the confusion stills…and I look up. 

He stares, frozen and lips parted…before releasing a short gasp. Whether the terrible expression in his eyes is pain, surprise, or both... I stagger back as he clutches a knee and slowly, half-sinks to the ground. A collective whisper of shock breathes through the rest.   
I look down, terrified at his barely suffocated groan… and before anyone has time to recover, even myself, I’m already running… and I can’t run fast enough. 

Trunks speed past and I tumble down the slope, grabbing onto trees and sprinting blind. Darts of sunlight flash and glint in my eyes, and I can’t look back and run at the same time. Half way down though, I trip on a root, slamming to my hands and knees with a dizzying jolt, before scrambling to my feet and looking back. They’re already coming after. 

“Támpe!” the man’s half-collapsed on the ground, but the command holds them at bay.   
They look between us, and he throws a hand into the air, wincing, “Matha n’ he…” 

I don’t have time to wonder if they’re letting me go or not. I’m too busy keeping my stomach down, and as I stumble past a tree, feeling ready to vomit, the sharp squeal of a horse comes from behind. I blink furiously, pushing on, but the world blurs. Not even the cold splash of stream clears it, and only reflex snaps my chin up at a skid of wet leaves. The thundering of hooves runs through the wilds… and I curse.

He’s giving chase!

I force strength into my limbs where there is none, but I’m even more dizzy and exhausted than waking up. I can’t do it. It feels like every sense is smudged into the other, every light blurred into shadow.

A flash of speckled gray appears in the tail of my vision, and only when I stop, catching a slender trunk and diving behind it, does my vision clear a little. I back up into its bark and peer around, just in time to catch a glimpse of fierce blue eyes. He grimaces, reeling the horse around and speeding after. But then, I catch sight of his ear…and I freeze. 

_It’s pointed_ …pointed? I back-step wildly, panting. Why is it pointed? _What-what…_ I can’t even finish the thought.

The steed breaks into a gallop, and I know I’m too late. I can’t even move, much less protest when she picks up speed and he dives forward. Suddenly, my spinning world lurches and he slams into me. The momentum of the moving horse does the rest, and I clutch the arm around my ribs with a gasp, before gaping at the blur of ground skidding to a halt. 

“Be still!” He snaps harshly, and if I weren’t so terrified, angry, and mortified, I’d feel a spark of satisfaction at the pain in his voice. But he doesn’t give me the chance, grabbing her reins again, “…Move and I will render you incapable of doing so.” 

I only struggle once, weakly just for pride’s sake, and he ignores it, tugging the reins around and kicking the mare back into a gallop. She slips once, releasing short bursts of vapor from her nostrils, but scrambles up the rise and stamps to a halt. 

The others wait at the hill’s peak, and as she steps into their midst, their whispers still. An almost deathly quiet passes over them…I can’t stop staring. _Why didn’t I notice before?_ Their ears curve to gentle peaks too, every one… and I fall limp in the saddle. What does it mean?

Without a word, he swings off and drops heavily to the ground, before pulling me after. I wonder if he still hurts, or is it anger that stiffens his posture and grits his teeth, but either way, I always wondered how effective those self-defense classes were in real life. I guess I have my answer. 

“Do we still bring her with us, my lord?” One of them asks carefully, and with that, my shoulder is gripped painfully and whirled around. 

“Do you suggest anything different, Faenor?” He snaps. ‘My lord’ is already tying a leather cord around my wrists…tight… lips clamped into a thin line. I don’t bother resisting. 

When silence answers, he flicks his eyes to the other. I surreptitiously look between, and though my knees quiver under the strain of standing and I can barely manage it, I note with confusion how his expression eases. The darker one stares steadily, and I wonder if it’s concern that I see there.

“We take her with us.” He says quieter.

“And what if I don’t want to be taken with you?” I whisper hoarsely, testing the strength of my bonds. Still, this could be much worse…and I know it. 

His eyes dart back up, and as they focus on my dirt-smudged face, they harden again.   
“Watch yourself, elleth, else I decide a less pleasant fate for you.” 

“Such as?” I lean forward. 

“Such as leaving you in this forest tonight and seeing what the yrch raids do with you.” He suggests. 

I don’t mean to, I really don’t, but I blink once, “Yrch?” _Why does that sound familiar?_ “W-what’s a yrch?” I ask anyway. 

From his expression, he doesn’t mean to either. But his eyes look no less surprised than the others do, and he turns, staring. 

Color rises in my cheeks. “What…” 

“You know not what an orc is, elleth?” Faenor asks, shifting closer. 

“Will you stop calling me that?” Embarrassment transforms rapidly into ugly anger, and I squash it down, “M-my name is Laine Rivers.” _Stop stammering…_ I wince, kicking myself. A moment’s pause, and again, I feel embarrassment wipe out pride, and I whisper. “What is it…” 

“‘Tis a name not given to an elleth, at least that I have heard.” he says finally, and if I had to guess, it’s the most diplomatic thing he can manage. “Is this a cultural name of our western kin?” 

“Do not humor her, Faenor.” The fairer one says quietly, “‘Tis obvious she lies.” 

“What!” I look around, realizing he’s already turning away and so are the others, before spinning around, wide-eyed. “I…I’m not a liar!” 

Not even Faenor spares a glance, and as their saddled mounts assemble, I look between them, confused. What is wrong with them? What’s wrong with _me_ , for that matter? This can’t be real…it’s the only explanation. _It isn’t real…_

One of the things gracefully swoops from earth to saddle to earth again, retrieving my pack, and I stare. Just the single movement was as fluid as water, and when the lithe form straightens back, barely even a touch, one that I don’t see for that matter, to the chestnut’s flank sends him circling to the back. I suppose if I weren’t so busy gawking, I would have seen the gray-spattered body pulling up behind, but I don’t.

Suddenly, I release a short yelp. Hands grasp my waist from behind and fairly toss me into the saddle, and I grab desperately at the mare’s neck to keep from falling. I shoot a glare, but 'my lord’ either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. 

Still, he manages to swing up without the stirrup, and he reaches around me for the reins rather stiffly. I can't help but notice...again...that he leans away as far as possible once done. 

“Tula.” 

If I weren’t so tired, confused, and…what is this? anger? I think so… I would frown. Faenor springs lightly into the saddle of a tawny mare and says something, but I only catch the wary glance he casts. 

“The offer is generous, but I enjoy your company too much.” My lord shakes his head, and as the others fall into a staggered line behind, he glances back, “We camp at nightfall.” 

I twist around to look over his shoulder, and as he readjusts his grip on the reins, descend a path I didn’t notice before. Their silky hair ripples faintly in the light though, and one of their fair, white faces glance to me. He looks younger than the others, though I’m not quite sure how. His eyes are a perfect blue-gray, housed under light brows, and even as I stare, his cupid shaped mouth smiles a little. I’m not sure whether it’s pitying or confused, but even as I think about it, can’t help but wonder if they’re all supermodels in disguise. Maybe they’re actors who went deranged…

Suddenly, my wide-eyed interest cuts off as I glance to the dark look my lord casts. I quickly whip my head around, blushing furiously. 

Nightfall… 

How am I to survive sitting in the same saddle with a ‘lord’ who now hates me… with good reason I suppose… avoid touching him like a plague, speaking to this Faenor despite the looks he casts me… and stay sane too? Now that the queasiness in the pit of my stomach begins to ease, swaying with the horse’s moderate pace and moving down the rough path, I’m beginning to sorely regret my actions. 

Whoever they are, wherever I am doesn’t seem to be directly their fault, and if the distasteful, wary faces when mentioning ‘orc’ is any judge to go by, they’ve rescued me from a worse fate. It’s too bad first meetings can’t be undone.

So after an hour passes by of sitting tense on the horse’s back, almost breaking a sweat in the cool air in an attempt to stay rigid and straight, I eventually plop back and rest against his chest, whether he likes it or not. I’m too tired to resist, and though he stiffens exponentially, he doesn’t say a word, nudging the horse into a faster walk... 

I’m not sure if it’s normal or not, or because of me, but wherever they’re going, they do it noiselessly. Only the faint creaks of leather and harness break the still quiet, and barely a whispered comment passes between them. My head jostles only slightly with each step, and I wander the trees, feeling dazed and exhausted. 

The faint sounds of insects in the trees, whistles of birds warbling through the branches fill the air. Still, despite my thighs beginning to chafe raw with the mound of horseflesh between them, I think the smell of the woods in the evening light would be intoxicating if I weren’t so tired… 

With that thought, I release a soft breath, rolling my head back and feeling exhaustion settling like a dim blanket. The rapidly fading sunlight throws a dusky haze over the trees, dulling my senses and illuminating the faint flecks of dust floating in the streaming banners of russet and gold… 

My heart slows to what feels three beats per minute, and the pain in my legs ease, blur... At least it’s warmer here… I flick half-open eyes to his silver draped arms, before ruefully closing them again, wishing it all didn’t feel so surreal. It’s all a strange dream...   
When I wake again, I’ll find the television on, a once steaming cup of cocoa sitting cold, and the lights off…   
The mere thought settles me so much I almost convince myself that it’s true, and only when I feel sleep brushing the bordering edges of consciousness, warm and dark, do I lift my eyes to the glowing edge of chin just visible. My fingers are cold and a little numb with the cool breeze and strap synched around my wrists, but I doubt he would loosen them if I asked. 

If this is a dream, I may as well know what it’s called. “What’s your name?” I whisper faintly. 

It takes a minute, groggily watching his jaw clench a little tighter…before finally, he exhales and glances my way. In the dusky light and from my position, it looks aloof and not a little cold. He stares wordless a long minute, and eventually, he sighs and lifts his gaze to the trail ahead. 

“Legolas.”

\------*******  
“Mani eneth lín?” What is your name?  
“Mani?” What?  
“Ya naa re?” Who is she?  
“Caun nín…” My prince…  
“Támpe!” Stop!  
Matha n’ he…”Don’t touch her…


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had set on the distant hills, and where splashes of orange and red touched green, they cast purple hues to the sky. The light was fading rapidly though, and as the company picked along the narrow, rough trail, they could see smoke in the valley rising from the trees in blustery coils. But it was distant, and the horses needed rest before continuing on to Rivendell. 

“… the attacks close to here?” Faenor was speaking. 

“Possibly,” Legolas glanced to the captain. 

Nightfall was just heartbeats away, and their brief discussion on the watch was the first shed since they met their ‘guest’. It was difficult to concentrate on speaking though, listening to Faenor’s words and the murmurings of the trees, and keeping the sleeping body in his arms from falling at the same time, but he managed it. 

“What will we do with her tonight?” He asked finally, “…to prevent her escape? She is a child of Eldar, after all.” 

“I doubt she will try.” Legolas glanced ruefully to the top of her head, before out at the dusky trees. “And if she does, her fate will be the worse…” 

“Indeed…but would the lord of Imladris approve?” 

“Perhaps no, but think…” he smiled, “...she would be gone.” The thought was strangely pleasing. “If she were to escape and something were to befall her, it wouldn’t be on our heads.” 

Faenor wasn’t convinced, and he conveyed it with a skeptical glance. “Yet however…queer…she is, she is still a life form.” He turned a pitying smirk, “Besides, can you look at her now and wish her dead?” 

He didn’t bother. What was the point? Faenor knew him better than he did himself. 

“Her clothes are rather odd, though.” The captain added more seriously, “What do you suppose? A secluded coastal village, perhaps?” 

Legolas could only shake his head. 

The girl’s legs hung loose at the horse sides, bumping his knees lightly with every easy stride. The shirt she wore was thin and soft, a dark, midnight blue fitting snugly all the way to her wrists, and tucked into strange trousers. They were a material he’d never seen before, soft and tight. After she fell asleep though, he’d given into the urge but once to touch it, and he was positive he’d never seen such a thing. 

“In any case, I think she is…interesting.” 

“You are quite the diplomat.” Legolas sighed, giving in and looking over. “‘Tis not the word I thought of…” 

“Before or after she attacked you?” Faenor quirked a grin.

“Before _and_ after…and keep your voice down.” 

It would be a century before he lived that down; he knew it. Still, he intended to impress on his company the need for silence. He doubted they would be indiscreet, but he wouldn’t become the butt of every ellon and elleth’s gossip for his entire stay in Imladris. The entire thing was shameful, unheard of, and thoroughly…frustrating. 

“Worry not, my prince.” Faenor said instead, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, “She looked nearly as horrified at her ‘tactical’ skills as our companions did. I doubt she’s eager to speak of it either.”   
Legolas shuddered at the thought. Not only the idea of some queer elleth boasting to all of Rivendell how she took the Prince of Mirkwood unawares with a dishonorable, underhanded blow…but his speaking to the thing about it long enough to command her silence. 

Still, it only made his neck bristle thinking about it, so he half-turned in the saddle, looking back to the fair, gray-eyed elf riding a few paces behind. 

“Gwendir! I believe it is your turn for first watch?” 

It took an instant, the elf obviously reigning in whatever thoughts he’d wandered to, but at the slight smile the Prince offered, he nodded quickly. “Y-yes, my lord.” 

“Legolas,” He sighed, and Faenor spotted a small, sheltered clearing just ahead. _Why did they never listen?_

A white brook tumbled past so the horses could drink their fill, drips of moss and lichen clinging to the stones and washing out into the current. Legolas looked through the trees, stroking Mithrech’s neck and letting the cool wind breeze through his hair. There was a sweet smell on the wind, fresh, and he knew it came from Imladris. They’d not yet reached its borders, but they were close. It was a shame he couldn’t be here with a more pleasant task. 

Though as he thought about it…it probably was the only reason his father let him go…especially at this time of year. His thoughts wandered to that terrible time so many seasons ago, thinking, remembering and letting the pain and horror sink through his thoughts like the mere shadows they were…before letting it go. It was all he had done since then, and it was what he would keep doing. Being here in the open though, among the trees, it helped. 

Fall leaves bobbed along the surface, moving back and forth in the eddying tides of current like the little boats of Laketown, he thought with a sigh… before washing free and tumbling downstream. The elves were making camp and he could smell the burning leaves of Faenor’s fire. 

Gwendir and another, Indómeron, took off to scout the perimeter, and then, he knew he was in familiar territory. This was where he belonged, in the wild, the trees, nothing but the elves he called friends and the woods he called home, wherever they were. He was just about to dismount and unbridle Mithrech though…when suddenly, reality slapped him in the face. 

The girl… still sound asleep.

He worried briefly at himself for actually growing used to the warm weight on his chest through the evening, and he shook his head. He’d tend this pain with as little show possible. What’s worse though, was the group milling about the clearing, very busy of course, were surreptitiously watching to see how he would deal with this dilemma… Faenor included. 

So, he poked her gently in the side, hastily dispelling the idea of trying to dismount, slide her off and bind her more securely without waking her up. The trouble wasn’t worth it. Besides, he didn’t particularly want the others to see him prancing about making the object of his displeasure comfortable, when really, he was only trying to avoid waking the thing up. 

Besides, he was angry, not cowardly. 

She mumbled something unintelligible, so he jabbed her with two fingers this time, hard enough to hurt. Still, it scraped against the grain to treat an elleth so, a sleeping one no less. If they were sparring, it would be fair, if the odds were even. But _by the Valar…how_ could she sleep through that? 

And so, with only brief hesitation, he slipped gracefully from the saddle and took his hand from her arm, effectively snapping her loose. 

She all but tumbled from the horse, and though he slowed the fall, she was shouting out even before hitting ground, terrified and whipping around in a blur. Suddenly, she snapped her head up with a gasp, staring at him. For a brief, weak moment, Legolas felt guilt when remembering her bound hands, but a twinge of lingering pain made its plea and he felt better than he had all evening…a petty, yet sweet revenge.

“It is time you woke.” Legolas sat on his heels and peered at her upside down, before tilting his head. She looked better at this angle, oddly enough. Still, want for basic necessities may pry her into compliance.   
“If you wish to eat, stay put, stay still, and if possible, stay quiet.” 

“I don’t want anything you have,” she snapped. 

“Very well, but if you make unnecessary noise, I will gag you.” He was tempted to leave it at that, something about her hard swallow satisfying, but she would obey better if there were more truth in his warning than threat. “These woods are prone to attackers who lie in wait for unsuspecting travelers. If they hear you…they will come…and they will kill you if they can.” 

With that, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, before striding through the clearing and into a mass of twisted tree roots. He sat her down with only a slight bump, near the fire Raunien tended… before lifting a finger. 

“Stay put.” And he walked away. 

He set to helping Faenor relieve the mounts of their burdens, and they tethered them near the clearing far enough to drink again, close enough for the elves to reach. You never could tell what foreign places and uncertain times would bring, but the reeds sprouting from the riverbanks, chattering in the cooling breeze and pricking at the water’s surface would feed them tonight.

Faenor tossed a saddlebag into the brush and cast a skeptical glance. “Well, you handled that well…” 

He shrugged. “I thought so.” 

The captain frowned briefly, but it didn’t stop him from clapping a hand to his shoulder as they walked back. “You know, you catch more flies with sugar than vinegar.”

“But you kill more spiders with the blade.” 

Faenor smiled. 

When the sun slowly faded but the moon was nothing more than the night sky’s ornament, the scouts returned. They looked a mile about in every direction to the clearing with no ill news, only two small hares that Faenor could transform into stew fit for a king… It was a good thing, too. 

Meat was a rare and welcome change to lembas. Still, it was early and the last remnants of daylight clung to the branches. The camped elves kept the light small. Attracting unwanted attention was the last thing they needed. 

The pan simmered contentedly over the tiny flames; Gwendir kept watch from a ways away, scanning the trees and coppice. The others rested just as comfortably around the slim, yellow firelight lapping and dancing over the wooded trunks. That is, all except the she-elf. 

She sat hunkered in the tree’s root, wrists bound tighter and staring gloomily into nowhere. But as much as he doubted she understood the Sindarin tongue, it seemed no one was willing to break the silence. Legolas couldn’t bring himself to question her history or business here either; Lord Elrond was more suited to the task. 

“I know what you are, now.” She said softly, flicking her eyes up to them. 

Legolas didn’t mean to, but his brows rose a fraction, resting cross-legged somewhere between   
Indómeron and the warm trunk of a tree. It was a shame these branches didn’t house the trails and platforms of his Homewood. He would have built the fire there and spent the night in the trees. In all likelihood though, their guest would fall from the highest possible height and kill herself before Elrond could unveil the cloak of mystery about her, so he stayed silent. Indómeron however, couldn't seem to keep his curiosity to himself. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re assassins, right? Or undercover soldiers?” When he cast a discreet glance, he found her staring straight at him. He quickly looked away and examined the fire, stirring it uselessly. Faenor frowned at him for building the flames to his pan, but he ignored it. “You know, super samurai, ju-jitsu warriors ‘trained in the arts of the old ways’, and all that old-timey stuff, right? Like Ros-al-ghoul in Batman, or kung-fu?” 

He didn’t even bother, but Indómeron did. 

“K-kung-fo?” he stumbled over the word. 

She smirked, and Legolas had the strangest feeling the half-dead, dreary expression in her eyes was fatigue. How she could be tired after sleeping through half the evening though, was impossibly beyond him. 

She nodded a little. “S-so what are you doing out here then, tracking monsters with rusty sword and courage?” She gingerly rubbed her legs, glancing around, “‘Cause it would be a lot easier to use a jeep or something, then horses, you know.”

The young elf blinked, obviously perplexed. Legolas had a feeling he was about to ask the questions he wasn’t quite willing to speak up for though, so he didn’t bid the elf’s silence. He merely watched, arms folded around his chest and feeling the flames’ warmth dart over his face. The woods were quiet…for now, and he let himself rest in it.

“What is this…jeep? Some kind of beast of burden?” Indómeron asked, before smiling slightly, “Your speech is very queer, elleth, I must say.” 

Faenor cast Legolas a glance. If his expression was anything to go by, it wasn’t the word in his mind, either. 

Indómeron continued anyway, oblivious. “So where do you hail from? You are not from here…are you, elleth?” 

“I don’t think so.” she sighed, before glancing to the back of Gwendir. He sat apart from the rest, scanning the trees. “Why is he in time-out?” she looked around, obviously confused, “D-did he do something bad? When can he come back?” 

Legolas stared a moment, before wondering if he should simply gag her and be done with it. All but   
Indómeron would thank him for it, and it would save many idle, stupid questions and irritation…but the alternative was too intriguing to resist. 

“You say you do not hail from the valley, and 'tis obvious.” he narrowed his eyes, “…Then where do you claim to be from?” 

She looked at him a moment, before awkwardly shoving the tangled, honey brown hair back, attempting to comb some of the bits of leaves and bark loose. “I’m from Burnsville, Minnesota. That’s a few miles south of Saint Paul. I’m Scandinavian, and I live there now. Well, I-I did then…” 

She apparently thought a moment, “But, my sister…well, kinda sister,” she faded out, before hurrying on, “We were on this mountain see, Mount Mitchell in North Carolina. I was on vacation and…” Again, the words whispered away and clung to the breeze, leaving her speechless. Her exhaustion was so severe it looked drunk. “…I-I don’t really remember. It’s kind of a blur.” 

This time, they all stared. Somewhere in the night, a cricket chirped, and Legolas slowly folded his arms, drawing a booted knee to his chest. It would be funny if it weren’t so preposterous. 

“You… do not remember.” He repeated anyway, just a little flat.

The only question now was why did she lie? Or was she simply dim-witted, or ill, perhaps? Maybe when he ‘dropped’ her, he’d let her hit too hard…and he felt guilt again. Either way, it would be best to rule out the first. 

“I do not believe you. You lie.” Legolas stated bluntly…but everyone told him he was a terrible liar, something of the tips of his ears turning shade. There was really nothing to say she wasn’t simply mad. Still, he hoped the dim light would hide his doubt. 

“Why do you hide the truth?” he asked anyway, acutely adept at sensing deceit in others, intuition of the elves, he supposed. The elf stared at her hard. 

The woman’s mouth opened wide enough to show a smooth row of teeth, lips forming a small o, and the expression would be comical if it weren’t so shocked, “W-what?” She stuttered, before gaping, “You’re calling me a liar…again?” 

He wondered if she saw through him, or was it simply surprise. “You are an elleth, among the lands of said kind. Yet, you say you know not what we are, who you are, and how you came to be here. Does this story not seem improbable?” 

“Y-your calling me a liar!” she gasped, “How can you do that?” 

He didn’t reply. She was still staring at him though, and with that, she clamped her mouth into a tight line and turned away. Why did he have to do this? He was a warrior, not a healer or counsellor. She shuffled down anyway until she was curled in the tree’s sheltering darkness, sliding both knees to her chest. It was pathetic, really. 

“I’m not speaking to you.” She sniffed. If it weren’t so forlorn, miserable, and small, he’d think it was pride. 

He blinked… That did not go as expected. 

“There’s an old saying, you know.” Her voice half broke, but it was more anger than tears now, “If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all. And calling people liars is not nice.” With that, she flashed a sharp, narrowed glare in his direction. It startled him. “You’re not good at either, and I’m not talking anymore.” 

If the childish display and genuine fury simmering in her eyes didn’t distract him, an instant before she snapped them away, he’d have caught Indómeron’s snicker. The elf squelched it off too soon though, and Legolas was left frowning at the fire…

Rivendell wasn’t ready. How he pitied the lord of Imladris! His curse would soon become the great elf’s bane…and it couldn’t come too soon. 

******

_Legolas…Legolas…_ I stare up at the trees, waving slowly over the midnight sky. 

_Where have I heard that name before?_ Isn’t it familiar? Not a single whisper, not even a birdcall answers. Everything, the sky, the forest, even the ground is the same, strange… frightening. 

Five of the things rest back on the ground, lying under the sheltering leaves and night sky, asleep. I think they’re asleep, anyway. Their fingers are interlaced or loose on the ground, and one, Indómeron I believe, rests peacefully on his side, pillowing a head with an arm. It’s a little hard to believe they could do anything so…normal. 

So the dark, blue-tinted trees climb to the sky as far as I can see. Creaks and groans squeak from their branches. These are what keep me awake, listening to bumps in the night and wondering what exactly an ‘orc’ is. It must be terrible to have such an effect on these creatures. After all, I haven’t even seen a stumble, hiccup, or awkward movement yet... I’m starting to wonder if perfection has a name. It’s sickening.

Still, I might feel better too if my hands were free and I could stop shivering…but neither seems likely at the moment. 

The darker haired one, Faenor, is gone on what I’ve gathered is another ‘perimeter check’. At least that sounded familiar. Meghan was always assigning that job on scouting missions, or so she told me, and the blonde Lord Charming is somewhere off on late-night guard duty. For some reason, I didn’t think he did such lowly jobs, but maybe the pretentious air he breathes all the time is just around me…

I wonder what Meghan would think if she saw me now. Actually, I don’t think I need to. She would tell me to think of a clever way out of this, beat the odds, escape and live to laugh at the tale. _But I can’t…_ I think, looking out through the trees and shivering again in the cold. I’m not like her; I never was. Sometimes I wonder why I can’t be…

Suddenly, I look up with a start. A glowing shadow approaches…and if the sheen of pale light clinging to his hair is any judge to go by, it isn’t Faenor. Either way, he doesn’t make a sound, stepping slowly into the clearing and casting a glance around his companions. He stands on a slight rise, and I can see his eyes travel slowly from each resting body to the next. Flaxen strands of glossy hair hang down his shoulders, and a faint night breeze brushes the blades and quiver strapped to his back. 

Cracks of moonlight pass slowly over his face as he listens, fingers resting flat on a spread of tree bark. A translucent gleam of blue moon lights the woods, silhouetting his lean form, and he stands still and silent, as if in a trance. I stare, huddled in the hollow and the cold temporarily forgotten, transfixed. With every still minute, he seems to melt into the forest, one with the slowly swaying branches…before even slower, slits his eyes closed and his fingers drop from the tree. 

I look away, dropping my eyes. He looks formidable; I’ll give him that. 

“You have not eaten yet.” 

I blink and snap my chin up, only to find that he’s barely moved. His head tilts in my direction though.   
“I’m not hungry.” I mutter, staring at the smoke wafting from the dead remnants of their fire. Not even exhaustion could counteract the effects of that quiet, silent stare, and instantly, my fingers fidget profusely and I'm wide awake. 

“Food is a basic necessity of life.” He states finally. 

“Why don’t you please save the caring routine for your men?” I ask a little flat, praising myself briefly for how strong it comes. It doesn’t stutter or crack even once, “Or are you worried I’m gonna die on you before you have a chance to serve me to your master?” 

There…now that’s something Meghan would say.

“Lord Elrond is not my master, nor do I intend to ‘serve’ you to him.” He replies quietly. “I will however, transfer you to his care.” Surprisingly, there’s little anger, or even blatant frustration coloring his voice. Instead, he slips down cross-legged near the fire, stirring the still warm, steaming pan of something, stew I think. The dead embers glow to life. 

“Besides, if you were to die…it would not be my fault.” He says lightly, “…just relieved the burden of protecting you.” 

I look up and stare…only to realize he’s not serious. There’s a strange kind of tired, good humor there. When I do though, I can’t help glancing to the small arsenal of weapons on his back. They gleam in the faint light and I can’t help wondering how easy it would be for one of them to run a body through…how easy it would be to have an ‘accident’ with one. Would it hurt? Or would it be over too fast?   
Suddenly, so absorbed in thought, I jump violently when he sits back a little. It earns me an odd glance,   
“Then why bother?” I ask hurriedly, reining in my flaming nerves, “Why don’t you go…p-patrol or something?” before frowning. That’s something I would say.

He spoons some out, eyes aglow in the shadows moving slowly over the forest floor. “I have no intention of bringing the Lord of Imladris a half-starved guest on the moment I arrive.” With that, he slides back and settles with a bowl of chunky liquid. He balances the cup on a knee though, before scrubbing his eyes with one hand and shaking his head. I think he’s tired.

“So you don’t live here?” 

“Nay.” 

“Just visiting?” I whisper. 

“Yes…” he blinks hard, “…now eat. I haven’t all night.” 

I stare at him a moment, before caustically waving my raw, tied wrists before his view. Misery is a terrible thing when it rears anger. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” I drop back in my lap with a glare, “I’m still tied up.” 

“And I have no intention of releasing you,” He quips back, and what brief hope I had flutters away on the wind. If I’m ever going to find out how I got here, wherever ‘here’ is, it’s not going to be on his watch. Instead, he lifts the spoon before my face with a half-calming, half-warning glance. 

“Eat.” 

“I’m not a child.” I snap. 

“Only a child refuses to eat.” He replies, tilting an angular brow higher than the other. It makes him look wiser for some reason, and he doesn’t let the spoon drop, staring, as if daring me to refuse and prove his point. 

What am I supposed to do? How can I win a stare-down when I can barely keep my eyes open? Besides, the grating bristle at being spoon-fed like a toddler soon fades when the food brings a slow return of strength. It’s still warm, a thin broth that’s just a little salty. 

How did he manage to make this taste so good out here? 

“Faenor’s cooking is legend among the border patrol. I know not how he does it.” He says finally, as if reading my mind, the barest hint of a smile twitching at his mouth. Apparently, wandering the trees for half the night’s improved his mood some.

He sets the empty cup with the others, before reaching back and unsnapping his quiver. He takes great care in doing it, setting them beside, adjusting the bow and quiver, letting the knives rest in his lap. He smooths the fletching between his fingers of one, slowly drawing an arrow from its wrap and looking down the point, weighing it in his hands, before returning it. 

I watch sidelong, and apparently, he doesn't notice. He rubs a smear of dirt from the carved, leather sheathe of his blades instead. Engraved leaves spiral up and down from their white, wooden hilts, and the design continues down its leather. He lets them rest in the leaves beside, before slowly, leans back, folding his hands.

The pale blonde hair melts into the velvet around his shoulders, and for the first time, sitting just a meter away and looking out through the trees, there’s a quiet, almost serene aura to him…and I stop pulling at the leather around my wrists. He doesn’t even look at me, eyes lifted, scanning the treetops. 

“So…who are you?” I ask anyway. It’s just a whisper, but one of the sleeping forms stirs, and I drop my voice, “…I mean, r-really?”

He doesn’t even look. “I have told you my name.” 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” I look to the clearing and back, to everything, the sleeping bodies, the massive moonlit trees, to the unearthly, magical glow encompassing the beings here.   
“Where is this? I…I can’t-” I stop, staring at my red, numb hands. 

He doesn’t answer for a long while…before finally, he takes in a slow breath, “We camp in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, nearing Imladris.” 

“I-Imladris…” I stutter, before shaking my head, “What’s that?” 

“’Tis the valley of the last Homely House,” He explains without really explaining, but when he realizes it, he sighs, drawing a knee back and resting his hands on it. “Elleth-”

“-Laine, it’s Laine Rivers,” I correct, before letting my head loll against the bark, "Honestly, I have no idea who this ‘elleth’ person is, but it’s not me.” 

I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that. 

“Do you have no idea of your heritage?” he asks finally. 

I blink. “What?” 

“Your heritage, your people; do you have no idea? We are children of Eldar.” 

I’m almost afraid to ask…but not quite enough. I lean forward, ignoring that he tenses in response…before whispering. “What’s an elder child?” 

He grimaces, looking pained. “We are elves… _elves_! Do you know nothing of your own kind? Have you no past, no people…no heritage?” 

“Elves…” I mutter, “…like real elves?” 

He stares…and an instant later, I reach out and touch his ear. He flinches at the touch and nearly slaps my hand off, but it’s enough. It's real...real! The skin is warm, smooth, and I feel blood pulsing through the thin flesh. 

“Real…” I whisper, and suddenly, a single memory filters through the fog. "Legolas…Oh, Lord." It’s how it starts, a single memory, but then, it careens out of control. I look up, and names, places, things whip through my head like a dusty whirlwind. I spin around, scrambling onto my knees and backing up. Legolas…as in the book, the movie, I never even finished it. I thought it was boring!

“L-legolas…You’re Legolas!” 

“I have already-”

“- But it’s just a story!” I cut him off, and the blood rushes to my head. I can’t see, can’t even think, and suddenly…it’s just a blur. “No, it can’t be real! This is R-rivendell?"

“Yes, I have-”

“And G-gollum with the ring, Frodo and th-the Sauron and…” 

Suddenly, I nearly shout out when his palm clamps over my mouth. I struggle because I can’t scream, gasping and panting, before flashing up to his shadowed, fierce blue eyes, and my babbling cuts off. 

“Do not speak that name so freely! Where do you get this knowledge?” He whispers sharply, and he only tears his hand away when he realizes I can’t breathe. 

“It’s just a story…” I whimper, looking up and pleading with myself to wake up. “…not real.” 

“I assure you, Lady Rivers,” He whispers venomously, “…I am as real as you. And if you do not keep your voice down, you will have the whole of Arda’s filth upon us!” 

“Orcs…” I slap my head, which is more than awkward with bound hands, “They’re those things. Those skinny, s-slobbery-” I look for the right word, panting in a cold sweat, “- _things?_ ” 

“They will take your head off without a second thought!” He growls, before dropping his hand slowly from my jaw, as if making sure I stay a whisper even when the threat’s gone. “You told me that you knew nothing of your whereabouts, what was happening here.” He says quieter, “You lied?” 

I shake my head vigorously, “No, I-I swear. I didn’t remember, I…” I stop, looking through him and into nowhere, “…I can’t remember.” I whisper. 

“What?” 

I flick up to his eyes, and when memories come crashing back, I tug on the leather strap, trying to break free. “It was dark and a voice! It was speaking t-to Meghan, calling her. He wanted Meghan!” 

“Meghan?” He grimaces, confused, before snatching my wrists with one hand and grabbing my face with the other. 

“Who is Meghan? And where did the Dark One visit you?” 

I latch onto his fingers even as I feel his itch to pull away, before forcing myself to stop, to think this out rationally. What happened? How did I get here? The Dark One…is that Sauron? 

“She’s m-my best friend. She’s in the marines, and we were visiting, and-and-and…” I swallow, “…and we were on this mountain. It was the middle of the night. I didn’t even see it until she was almost there. A bright-” I stop, feeling my heart slow to a dull pounding, and I choke down enough air to speak on, “-l-light, like fire and darkness. She didn’t hear me, and I ran after. I wanted to stop her, to help her and…” I swallow again, panting slower, before risking a glance to his stupefied expression, “I… I tripped.” 

“You… tripped,” He says carefully, and I hate that expression in his eyes. It makes me feel like a crazed lunatic, a clumsy half-wit, and a pathetic girl all in one. 

“Yes, I tripped!” I snap, “And I fell instead. I-I couldn't stop, I..." I cover my face, remembering, feeling a cry scream through my head like a hundred, dark murmurings that I can’t understand, can’t remember. It’s as if every thought, every memory that makes sense is sapped away in a vacuum, leaving only an empty vessel behind. “I c-couldn’t understand…It wasn’t English.” I whisper.

“English…” he mutters, before frowning, ducking enough to stare into my eyes, “What is that? What did it say?” 

I look up, “English?” This time, listening to my breathing slow, it’s my turn to look at him like…that, “the language? What we’re speaking?” 

His eyes narrow, “We speak Westron, the common tongue.” 

I blink. 

“Apparently, you were unfamiliar with my native speech, despite your lineage.” 

“W-what lineage?” 

Again, he gives me that queer look, and I nearly crumple. “An elleth…” he answers anyway. 

Once more, my heart skips and I shrink back. “W-what’s an elleth?” Before he has time to, I shake my head, “And don’t look at me like I’m the one who’s crazy!” 

“You are as my companions and I; we are the same.” He says finally, and it sounds like he could barely choke out the words. 

I stare, and he eyes me right back, as if just waiting for me to say something stupid. I can’t even move though, much less speak… before suddenly, he sighs and catches my hand, and in a sharp movement, pushes my bound wrists back. It skims my face and touches my ear, and before I know it…I freeze. 

“M-my ear,” I snap my head up, wide-eyed, “…th-this-this can’t be happening…” 

He doesn't answer, and I stare, horrified. Is this what I’ve become? It starts as a small, terrified quiver, touching the warm skin, stroking the smooth point. But then, I break down into suffocated laughter. I can’t stop even when I realize his hand slaps over my mouth again. 

I’m too exhausted, too tired, too afraid... 

“Will you stop this insanity?” He snaps finally, and my back hits ground, muffled under his hand. He flashes a glance about the trees, grimacing. “Quiet yourself!” 

I look up, trembling violently and dissolving into hiccups on frozen, cold ground, feeling tears stream down my face. It’s real…and I know it. It’s not a dream. I’m not going to wake up in my living room, not going to find a warm bowl of cereal leaving a stain on the table. I’m here, lost and alone…  
Slowly, his hand lifts from my mouth and I lean on one arm, gasping out loud, trying to sob and hyperventilate at the same time. It doesn’t work, and when I break down into free flowing tears, crumpling against the bark, crying into the backs of my hands, I feel him lean away. 

He stares warily, looking vaguely… stunned, and when I’ve managed to wipe my face on the back of a sleeve, hiccupping violently and shuddering down a swallow, I cast a teary glance.   
He stares at me like he wished he could shift back without being obvious. He doesn’t though…At least there’s that. 

“Are you all right?” he asks carefully, and I’m glad for the faint, midnight light. I feel like a drowned rat.   
Of course not! But I don’t say so, taking in short, ragged bursts of air. I scrub my eyes with bound wrists instead, nodding, before sniffling and coughing against the lichen covered bark. 

He stares a while longer, as if unsure of what to do...before sighing. The elf reaches to the inside of his boot and flicks a razor-like dagger free. The smooth, polished handle shines as white as his hair in the pale light, and I nearly cut myself on a violent hiccup when it slides between my hands and snaps the cord in two. 

“Th-thanks…” I whisper, rubbing the enflamed skin and working my fingers, keeping the warm pulse of blood flowing. 

“Now, would you care to explain the root of this outburst?” He asks finally, returning the blade to its sheathe. “I would prefer something to tell Lord Elrond when we arrive.” He dips his head quizzically, and I manage a small nod, rubbing my face free of dirt and tears. 

“I-I’m not an elf. I was just a woman…human woman!” I look up, sniffing again and looking over his face. 

“Human…” 

I nod vigorously. 

He stares at me a long while, that silent expression of his a mask, and I can’t quite tell if he believes me, wants to believe me, or simply thinks I’m deranged. I meet his eyes though, hoping he realizes I wouldn’t be crying like a bloody idiot if I weren’t telling the truth…

But slowly, he scans the trees and looks out at the clearing, studying his travelling companions and absorbing the breeze. 

Finally, fingers drumming the sheathe of his knives, jaw clamped shut…he turns back. “I will leave you unbound tonight.” He swallows, gauging my reaction, but I just stare, “But if you try to escape, I will catch you.” He warns, before tilting a brow, nodding to the distant woods. “And if I do not, something less pleasant will. Do not attempt it. Lord Elrond will decide your fate.” 

I refrain from making any of the sarcastic comments that leak into my head, and I nod, before wiping my nose on a sleeve once and watching as he picks up a stray twig. He tosses it at one of the resting elves lying stretched on his side. 

“Raunien!” Legolas whispers, and instantly, the elf’s eyes snap open. He merely looks to the moon though, signaling his time to take watch, and the elf picks himself off the forest floor and moves out into the trees. 

He looks lonely, I think, staring at him through foggy eyes. The elf rests atop the fallen branch of an old, mossy log, bow in lap and two daggers stuck in his belt. His very eyes seem to glow in the faint light though, and as I shakily look over, Legolas sinks to the ground. 

“Sleep now.” He glances back, settling flat on his back and staring up at the night sky. 

Slowly, I follow, curling up on my side and sliding a hand under my cheek. The ground is cold, the air is cold, and so is every breath I take. The leaves under my fingers feel damp and the wet dirt is icy. High over the fluttering leaves, the cool night breeze blows steady and hard. 

Legolas…so named…gazes up at the glittering blue, fathomless blanket with an expression so full and empty, I can’t imagine what thoughts pass through his mind. It doesn’t shift once, and even as I feel my head fogging, fading, I stare discreetly at the glitter of stars reflecting in his eyes. 

It all feels surreal, hollow and abstract, even the strange creaks and frightening darkness. It’s as if there’s nowhere else to go, and so slowly, I shift to lie on my chest, encircling my head with my arms to breathe against, and it helps a little. Very gradually, very slowly, the fuzzy edges of sleep descend before… 

Suddenly, a blanket drags up my body and drops around my shoulders. I blink, pulling out of the soft, black place that offers refuge from the cool ground and vast night forest… only to watch Legolas lie back to the ground again, wrapping himself in his cloak.

“Aren’t you worried?” I crack a half, tired smile, muffled in my arms, “Cleaning bills are outrageous…y’know.” 

He makes some kind of responsive sound, half way between a grunt and a sigh. “I trust the elves of Imladris.” 

I smirk just a little and give in. The battle with sleep is a losing one anyway…

________________________________

 

It feels like just a blink, like the peaceful darkness is fallen for just a minute…before suddenly, a shrill shout jars me awake. I snap my head up, finding the black of night still thick…and Raunien tears into the clearing. 

“Legolas!” 

He’s already grabbing at his weapons as a blur of shadows leap to their feet, ready and alert, before the scout hisses. 

“ _Yrch!_ ”


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Yrch!”

Even before Raunien screamed into camp on light feet, Legolas was awake. A sinister darkness seeped into these woods, and it jarred him out of his sleep-like trance the instant he felt it. Orcs…

“Faenor, take the west!” Legolas strapped his weapons to his back, “Raunien, where do they approach from?”

“Northwest…and quickly,” He was panting, but not from exertion. “I killed their scouts and dealt with the first wave, but…there were too many.”

Legolas strode to the moonlit trees, intent on sending Gwendir to cover the southern flank in case the pack intended to sweep around behind…but he almost tripped. There was a yelping woman under his feet and he cursed.

“Get her over…” he stopped, glancing over his shoulder and wondering where <i>would</i> be the best place for her, before pointing at Indómeron. “…Just keep her here!”

With that, he ran off into the woods, Gwendir and Raunien on his heels. Even though the sun was just barely a distant glow on the hills, he was awake, fresh, and ready for battle. That was one thing he enjoyed about this journey: the unpredictability, the sights, sounds and smells. It was all new to him. The only thing that wasn’t was the foul stench of yrch…and that he was ready to kill.

The first wave came as just a few goblins, waving beaten clubs and shrill war cries. Their shriveled gray bodies were one with the darkness, and only the glow of their putrid yellow eyes lit the night. They were ugly, horrid creatures, and the idea that they’d once been elves was a sickening one. But they dealt with these easily.

Blade sliced bone and Raunien’s double-handled sword lived up to its name. Legolas was a blur, pale hair and knives as white as the moon, and when he’d counted his sixth fly to the ground in a bloody heap…a shout came from behind. Legolas spun around.

He knew it well. It was Faenor.

“Legolas!” the elf broke into the clearing and skidded to a halt, taking advantage of the brief reprieve. But even as they felt the approach of more, Faenor spat out, “They’re after the girl!”

He blinked, “What…<i>Rivers</i>? How do you know?”

“One of them got past, but the filth didn’t attack. I was just north of camp and they went straight for her!”

Legolas shook his head, “But why?

Faenor had no time; the goblins arrived. Legolas whirled around and fought off the first onslaught. He spoke even as he drove the blade through orc belly, grating spine, before he wrenched free and argued, “That is impossible. What would they want with her?”

“I know not-” Faenor broke off, severing the neck from a deformed, sinewy body and kicking the drooling mouth into the dirt. “-but whatever it is, we’d best not let them have it!”

“I agree.” A strong arm knocked him back and he grabbed its fist, before wrenching around and, in a swift pull, snapped its neck.

They were coming in fast. He hadn’t seen this many in a single orc raid since Faenor and he went to the far south border. That day, he’d nearly lost his neck, but there was skill and experience on his side this time. Still they attacked with vigor. With every one he cut down, two took its place. He relied on pure instinct. It made him duck when a knife swung high, kick out when a scrambling, grasping body dove too close, and jam his blade through the throat of the next, leaving it hurking and twitching in the dirt.

Suddenly, a startled yelp echoed from behind and he twisted around. Legolas almost paused, was almost cleaved in two by the next attack that swung his way, but a blur of blonde slammed into the dirt near his boots and fought violently with a goblin. It wasn’t the blonde of Indómeron though… <i>He</i> was nowhere in sight.

He spun around and focused, catching an orc leaping from a low branch on his blade. Gwendir swung around to fight at his back, and he moved as close as possible to her. They kept the rest of the pack away. Try as he might though, every time he was to spin around and impale the scrambling creature on top of her, another chipped blade swung at him and forced him to fight back. He couldn’t afford to be distracted!

But then, something grabbed his leg and he whipped his head around, only to watch her bloody fingers wrench the knife out of his boot and plunge the shining blade in the orc’s neck. In that instant, he almost paused his attack, surprised.

<i>Where did that come from?</i>

He didn’t have time to wonder. There were hoof falls in the distance, and they were rapidly approaching, but the last of the pack was nearly dispelled with. Indómeron was at his back, covered in gore and apologizing profusely for letting the woman get away. But they’d attacked the camp first, and focusing on keeping her protected <i>and</i> in sight was nearing impossible.

She was somewhere behind; he kept a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision as he fought. Despite the dagger clutched in her fists though, it seemed she was smart enough to keep behind them...

Suddenly, Legolas yanked his blade free as Faenor dispelled the last with an arrow, before looking up just as a mounted elf rode into the clearing. The glow on the horizon hadn’t yet turned to dawn, a frigid, dusty breeze blowing through the trees, and he shook his head, focusing.

Another, and then another rode into view, before leaping to the ground, mounts sweating and stamping in the cool air. The elf stepping into the dusky light was tall and dressed mostly in leather, and the instant Legolas turned…his eyes lit up.

“<i>Elladan<i/>?”

“Legolas!”

Before he could even blink, the elf strode forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him into a semi-embrace. With Legolas’ knives, the hug was somewhat awkward, but he was grinning too hard to care. It was long since he’d seen the twin, and his timing couldn’t be better. He could still feel the presence of the Dark One’s servants.

“What are you doing here?” Legolas asked finally, pulling away and looking him over. Even in the twilight, his eyes were shining and he only looked disappointed at missing the bout of orc.

“Seeing what foul play lurks at our borders…?”

Another came up beside while the rest of his group, four he counted, fanned out to comb the area. He was a near perfect copy of his brother, the same, chestnut brown hair, the same dimple in his cheek when he smiled wide. It was the same grin lighting his face.

“Why, Prince Legolas…” Elrohir asked, “…playing with the rabble, are we?”

Legolas sighed, wiping and sheathing his blades. “How did you know to be here?” he glanced between them, “We’ve not sent word of our presence. Did your father send you?”

“Aye, though we knew not what we’d find,” he nodded, before half-laughing, “Imagine, of all elves in Arda to rescue…<i>Legolas</i> of Mirkwood!”

He could only smile. It would seem they hadn’t changed at all in the last century. “Well, your timing is impeccable.” He gestured to the already slaughtered orcs.

“Yes, sorry for that.” With that, the elf dipped to the side and looked past him curiously. “And what have we here…?” He stepped around and narrowed his eyes, walking past, “Who is <i>this</i>?”

Indómeron and Faenor were crouched on their heels, the object of his interest leaned back against a trunk and taking in short bursts of air. They almost couldn’t see her behind the two elves, tending something, but Legolas turned away, pulling an arrow out of a dead orc. They were scattered heavily over the forest floor in bloody heaps, bodies steaming in the frigid air. It was good they dispelled with the pack quickly.

Suddenly, purely accidentally, Legolas glanced up… and froze.

Between their backs and in the tree’s shadow, there was a long, black bloodstain running down the girl’s shirt. He stared. Faenor was beckoning to the brothers for aide as he tended her – he must have known them for healers – and Legolas realized the blood was hers. Faenor was holding a soaked cloth under her shirt, against her scraped ribs and telling her to keep still a moment.

Like a snap of magic, the twins were serious and at their side, examining the wound. She didn’t even respond though; she just kept staring, wide-eyed.

“This needs tending...” Elrohir murmured, “’Tis not deep, but we had best see that Father tends this. We’ll not know yet if it is poisoned.”

Elladan nodded, lifting the cloth just enough to look beneath.

“You’re…twins?” The woman whispered suddenly.

He looked up with a start, but with that, she offered a brilliant smile and he grinned. Legolas wasn’t quite sure what instigated it, but he looked on, stupefied.

“Indeed we are.” He offered an arm and Faenor slid one behind her back, “And what be your name, fair elleth?”

Legolas coughed. At the moment, she looked anything but fair…Strange? Yes. Bloody, battle worn, dirty...yes… But he bit his tongue.

“Laine… Laine Rivers,” She let them help her up, swaying once and clutching her side, but apparently, the blood loss hadn’t taken its toll yet. “What’s yours?”

“I am Elladan,” he gestured, offering support by proximity, “…and this is my brother, Elrohir.”

The elf bowed low and she made some kind of attempt at copying it. It was weak, but at least she tried…and she looked between them, eyeing the bows on their backs. “And you both can shoot?”

“Indeed.”

“…and fight?”

Elrohir nearly laughed, “Aye.”

“Who’s better?”

Elladan grinned like a devil… and Legolas was glad it was them and not him. Until they realized the stupidity of her questions and the excess number of them, they’d probably answer them all.

“We will see that the last of this vermin is dealt with.” One of their group spoke up, and Legolas nodded, snapping back.

“…And we will help.”

“Ey! Not while sweet Eru reins!” Elladan balked, pointing a finger at him, “You are guests. Come, saddle your mounts and Erusten will stay to escort you.”

“…and <i>we</i> had best see you to Imladris, Lady Rivers.” Elrohir interrupted before Legolas could protest. “We will see you in Rivendell, Legolas!”

With that, she was swung aboard the nearest mount, Elladan behind, and they were off on wings of the wind.

 

\-------------

 

Rivendell…It was more beautiful than he remembered it.

Water was plenteous, falls tumbling from the green cliff sides in white currents. It streamed in twisting rivulets through the valley so a latticework of bridge ways crisscrossed throughout. The buildings shone in the morning light like the sun, and though it was nearing autumn, there was a freshness here, a life unmatched. It was what used to inhabit his Homewood before the Darkness came, and it was good to feel it washing over his senses again.

“Lovely…is it not?” their guide looked up, moving the horses along the narrow path winding to the city gates.

Legolas could only smile in agreement, breathing it in. He soon found though, that they weren’t the only arrivals. A host of men rode through ahead, a strange thing in these parts. Stranger yet though, there was a company of what looked to be dwarves.

<i>What in sweet Eru’s name were those things doing within the gates of Imladris?</i> Were things really so bad as this?

Still, even the feel of the Dark One’s rising wasn’t enough to dampen the morning birds heralding the sun and the brisk wind chattering through the leaves. He road into the courtyard and leapt lightly from the saddle, dashing his eyes through the treetops. It was too long since he’d been here.

“Welcome, travelers, to Imladris,” a dark elf approached, fair of skin and donning a smile.

“I am Legolas of the Greenwood,” he saluted him, folding a hand to his chest and sweeping away. “And I come with news for Lord Elrond.”

“Come, there is time for your news later.” he beckoned, “I will show you to your rooms. You must be tired from the journey. Lord Elrond requests your presence at dinner tonight…?”

He smiled, more at the thought of soap and the first proper bath since leaving Mirkwood than a formal dinner.

“We will be there.” He said anyway. Bath for tedious ceremonies? It sounded fair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism (positive or negative), is always much appreciated. Feel free to tell me what you think. Have a great day readers!)


	6. Chapter 6

                       *******

Dark…dark that feels light.

Gradually, sensations whisk over my face like a spring breeze, and I stir, breathing it in. Cool warmth brushes my neck and only the faint whir of spinning chimes in the distance breaks it. I crack my eyes open a slit, light and shadow moving slowly over my face, warm banners of evening sunset pouring through the windows… _windows_? Evening?

I shift again, enough to feel cool sheets between my fingers. They’re like new spun silk…and I take a slow breath, forcing my eyes open, before blinking owlishly.

Carved, wood beams arch overhead and form a crisscrossed ceiling, and upon closer inspection, the windows warp and blur into large, open doorways sealed only in thin sheets of sheer white. They blow faintly in the wind, and I release the slow breath, wondering why I feel so good and so terrible at the same time. I rub my side, and the scratchy sensation turns out to be leaves against my ribs, wrapped tight in a gauzy, silver tourniquet.

“Lle naa kuile…”

My stomach leaps and I lurch upright, only to freeze, looking up into dark eyes, kind and inquiring. Half way down the open, airy room stands an elf. Ash-brown hair tumbles down her shoulders, the same warm smile on her face, and I blink once.

“Man mathach?”

Slowly, I ease back into the pillows and work my mouth, running slowly over the inside of my teeth. There’s a bitter, grainy taste lingering on my tongue, and I wince, before croaking out, “W-what?” Her eyes darken, and I cough out, “I-I don’t understand you. What happened? What time is it?”

She merely shakes her head, and only an instant later, I realize she doesn’t understand English…or Westron. I’m still thinking on that. Her hair whisks back and forth, and only after scrubbing my eyes, looking around, do I realize she’s hurrying out the door.

“No wait!” I cough, before grimacing and dropping back. She’s already gone.

Rivendell…It’s the last thing I remember.

Elladan and Elrohir rode into a courtyard, I think back, and I remember catching sight of she-elves, beautiful creatures dressed in silk and fluttering sleeves. They were coming to meet the twins. Yes _…_ and I remember frowning and feeling like a bloodied rat in comparison. But then, I squint, staring at the ceiling, it’s just a blur.

I suppose I passed out.

Well, it could have been worse. I could have given into the urge to vomit right in front of them. I’d rather not see that. Besides, if those perfect things are going to look at me with that polite kind of disdain I hate, I’d rather not know it…

Suddenly, a quiet, soothing voice breaks into my thoughts, and there stands a tall, dark elf in the doorway.

“Lady Rivers…?”

Long, sable locks fall around her face and ripple past her waist, framing pearly white skin and soft blue eyes. The dappled sunlight pours over her face a still, probing expression, and she looks at me a little curiously.

I sit up onto one arm as much as possible, rubbing my sore wrist. I think I twisted it when I tripped. “Y-yes…I’m Rivers.” I stop, wondering what to say, before asking stupidly, “Can I help you?”

She almost smiles at the question. Her arched brows lift, just a small quirk pulling at her mouth, before stepping forward.

“To the contrary,” She pauses at the bedside, “It is I who am here to help you. I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. How do you feel?”

_Arwen_...I guess perfection has a name.

I think about her question, shifting, and suddenly, I realize that I’m clean. Saints be praised, I’m clean!

“I can’t believe it.” I look up, “I-is this Rivendell?”

She smiles even as I twist my neck around, taking the room in with much clearer eyes. Evening sun pours through the open windows and floods the room in warm yellow light. Nothing but fluttering trees laced in orange and yellow can be seen outside. A latticework of porches and bridge-ways line them, and I stare openly.

“Beautiful, is it not?” she breaks my reverie, and I nod hurriedly. The movement only blurs my vision a little, and I can’t believe how much better I feel.

“I’m kind of hungry though.” Actually, I’m very hungry, but that would sound greedy. I certainly don’t want to be a bother. Besides, this woman looks like she has better things to do…like brushing yards and yards of beautiful raven hair.

“Of course, my father wishes to speak with you though. Do you feel well enough?”

I think about it, feeling my forehead, touching my skin. It’s cold and clammy, but it’s always like that when I’m nervous. I nod an affirmative. “W-who’s your father again?”

“My father is Elrond, Lord of Imldaris and the last Homely House,” She pauses, “Now come, you must eat something. He will see you then.”

“Here?”

She hesitates, “If you feel not well enough to visit the dining hall.”

“Oh…oh no, I’m all right.” I rub my side, stretching gingerly, and to my surprise, the movement doesn’t cause a flare of pain like before. She must see, because she smiles slightly.

“‘Twas my father who tended you.”

“He’s a miracle worker.”

The lady called Arwen lifts a dress from an oaken chair at the bedside and I slide carefully from between the sheets. “His healing skills are renown throughout Rivendell.” She agrees.

I rub my eyes, and even as reflex reaches to take what she offers, upon closer inspection, I squint. The pale blue, sheer layers of gown fall in wispy folds. Midnight trim laces the sleeves and steeped neckline. It pools at the floor as her hands drop a little, and she tilts her head.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the world’s circus.” I peek up the bottom rippling at the floor, “…I think it’s still _in_ here. Do I really have to wear this?” I cringe, quoting Disney. I never thought I’d have a chance to say that.

Great _…_ I think I offended her.

“To what you wear now, Lady Rivers… my dress offers great improvement.”

I glance to my clothes, wondering briefly who saw fit to change them, before pushing the shirt’s steep neck up a little and brushing my legs off a little awkwardly. “I have pants in my pack over there.” I nod to where it rests, and she apparently thinks about it.

“Oh, very well,” she sighs finally, before retrieving the bag for me. “You would best be comfortable healing.”

She gestures to a pale wood stand in the corner, and I change into the last clean pair of jeans I have. Unlike the first, its holes are confined to the knees, and I pull the tunic up and belt it around my waist with the strap she gives me. Still, she passes a strange look when I come out, but I’m used to them by now. I’m not used to my hair however, and without a brush, rake my fingers through it uselessly. The snarls fight back with a vengeance.

“Here, let me.”

I don’t bother resisting. She finds a comb from somewhere, the bureau I think, and it’s smooth like mother of pearl. I don’t know what it’s made out of, but it does wonders. Soon, a neat braid falls down my back, and she ties back all but the shorter layers and fringed bangs in my eyes.

I watch her reflection in a sparkling clean mirror against the wall. More than once as she works, I almost ask if she could teach me how to do my makeup like hers. Somehow…I realize with a sinking feeling…I doubt she wears it. The only thought more depressing is that I have little left myself, at least in my bag. On a horrid day in the nearing future, it’ll be gone. Hopefully, I’ll be home by then.

“There.” She pats my shoulder, and I smile slightly. It’s vaguely patronizing, but sitting here, I can’t help but appreciate it.

“Come, you must eat, Lady Rivers.”

“Okay, I just need to-”

“ _Now_.” She interrupts surprisingly firm, taking my hand, and I’m too surprised to resist. “You look fine.”

“But my _face_ , I-” I nearly protest, looking to the mirror and back in horror, but we emerge into late sunlight and it’s too late.

Out in open air, she lifts a hand, gesturing out over the balcony. Evening sun filters through the pillars and soaks into the stone until it’s warm and glowing, and far under the open courtyard, a company of small, dark shapes congregate. The fiery red and pale blonde heads are the most noticeable in the group, and I stare.

“Look, the last of the dwarf clans’ envoys have arrived.”

“Dwarf…” I lean over the rail, squinting to see better, and I temporarily forget the conditions that I’m here on. The distance doesn’t seem to blur my view. I can even make out the gleam of a polished belt strapped around a fat one’s waist, and I feel the smile creep over my face. “ _Real_ real dwarves?”

She laughs, a sound like tinkling bells, but it doesn’t last. “Yes, Lady Rivers...They are indeed real.”

“Oh, please,” I shake my head, hurrying on. “…please, my name’s Laine.”

She pauses briefly, apparently thinking about it, before another small smile twitches at her mouth. “…Such an unusual name. It is lovely.”

I nearly grin, pausing, before running after. What a refreshingly nice change ‘lovely and unusual’ makes to ‘strange and an obvious lie.’ _Why didn’t I meet this woman before?_

“Here it is.” She comes to the opening of a large, bright hall. Three columns of tables, seats and benches line the stone floor, and scattered throughout, elves and a few children eat. Even here though, the great chamber lets in flooding banners of light. The breeze wafts through the room freely, and it makes my mouth water.

“My father prepares a feast tonight,” she warns, snapping me out of my reverie, “…so be sure to enjoy it.”

I crack a grin. “You mean don’t stuff myself?”

Something like a queer expression flicks over her face, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a smirk. “You have a strange way of saying things, Laine…but yes.”

After telling me someone will come and get me when it’s time, she walks off with a graceful sway of her dress.

Me…I’m left looking nervously around. It isn’t particularly loud, the opposite even, but an old, queasy feeling of flicking around the cafeteria and looking for somewhere to sit resurfaces. Finally, I settle for a secluded corner near where a lone man sits. Besides the children throwing food across the table and shouting at each other in playful laughs, he looks like the only soul here without the pointed ears and heirs to match.

“Um…can I sit here?” I come up beside, holding a plate of warm food someone was kind enough to give me. The face that looks up to mine makes me stop an instant, lips parted, frozen.

Calm, gray eyes, almost a stormy blue settle on my face. They leave me stunned. Even when he nods to the seat beside though, I can’t quite move. The hair shorn at his shoulders is dark, like the shadow of beard around his sharply cut jaw, nothing on his lips. I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s nothing…not a smile, not a frown, or even a grimace there. It’s like a mask, or a lock just waiting to be opened.

“Thanks.” I smile hurriedly, slipping down beside. A book rests in his lap, a small, leather-bound book, and I stare at it as I chew. Surprisingly, the meat-soup and potatoes are quite good. Not as good as Faenor’s, but good.

“What are you reading?” I ask softly.

His eyes settle on me more than the pages, and everything about him seems like I should be nervous. I can’t figure then, why I can talk around him without stammering, my throat choking up, or fierce and embarrassing fidgeting…It’s a nice change.

“A story of the Dunedain.” His voice is quiet.

I pause mid-chew, “Dunedain? What’s that; is that a thing?” I swallow, staring, before adding quickly. “I-I mean if you don’t mind…s-sir.”

He looks at me strangely, his brows lifting a little. And then suddenly, they glow to life. They were a quieter kind of suspicious before, curious, and before my face, they transform. “You are the woman Legolas brought to Imladris!”

And as easy as that, my chest sinks into my shoes. I drop my head, nodding slightly.

“I have heard tell of you.”

So…someone’s been talking.

As if on cue, staring at the floor glumly, a glimpse of pale blonde flicks into my peripheral vision. I snap my head up, ready to glare, but I stop suddenly.

On the opposite side of the hall, a distant elf, a _familiar_ elf, darts down the far passage and ducks into the nearest exit, loaded down with a handful of fruit. I can’t imagine why he’s in such a hurry to get away, but I know he must have seen me. That elf can see everything everywhere, I’m sure, and I’ll wager it’s why he didn’t look.

Slowly, I drop my eyes again. It doesn’t matter I suppose. He’s just another in an ever-growing line that wants to be rid of me as much as I want to be rid of.

“I know. He doesn’t like me.” I look up, before smiling slightly. “I’m sure whatever he’s said about me isn’t true, though.”

“To the contrary,” he smiles, “I have heard of you from everyone but. I fear my friend is avoiding me.”

I blink. “Friend?”

“Forgive me.” He sets the book aside, offering a hand. “I am called Estel.”

I shake it vigorously, suddenly feeling better, but the moment’s cut short. He stares at me.

“What?” I blurt.

“It is nothing.”

I shake my head. “Oh please! Everyone keeps doing that to me. I think I’m doing everything wrong, but no one will tell me what!”

Estel sighs, and I think he pities me. Bless him.

“It is only that here, when a lady is offered a hand, it is not generally customary to shake. That is more reserved for men with each other, such as to confirm an arrangement and such.”

I blink. “Oh…then what should I do?”

“I would salute you,” he lifts a hand and I give it to him. “…as so.” He dips his head a fraction, and I think I see just a trace of amusement glitter through his eyes at my stupefied expression.

“Oh…thanks.” I can’t stop from smiling. “So, you know Legolas?”

“Well.”

“Why do you think he’s avoiding you?” I stop, suddenly feeling rude. “I…I mean I _know_ why he’s avoiding me. He can’t stand me. But you?”

Estel, so-named, merely sighs, “I am not altogether sure. He is not himself.”

I swallow a warm spoonful of broth, “You mean he isn’t always so high-and-mighty?”

Again, that surprised look in his eyes. I hurriedly correct myself.

“I-I mean formal and proper.”

“Formal…?” he looks to the side a moment, thoughtful. “Not generally.”

When I can’t tell what his look says, I glance down, remembering. “It seems like everything I say around him is wrong. He gives me this look like he wonders why I’m still alive.”

He tilts his head. “This is a…difficult time for my friend, but that seems rather odd. Did you do nothing to provoke him?”

I think about. “Well…a few things.”

He smiles knowingly. “I see.”

For a long minute, chewing on a cool piece of buttered bread, I wonder just how much he’s been told about me. He just looks at me though, curious maybe? I’m not sure. I’m glad he doesn’t ask any uncomfortable questions, not yet at least. That beast is still waiting to be uncaged.

“So…” I say slowly, wondering if it’s rude to talk behind other people’s backs in this place. I decide it is.

“Yes?”

I shake my head. “never mind.”

“There is not a question you would like to ask?”

“Well, you said this isn’t a good…time…for him?” I ask quietly, “and-and I was just wondering what you meant by that.”

He leans back, thoughtful I think. I can almost guess what’s going through his mind, despite his unreadable, sea-gray eyes. He’s wondering how trustworthy I am, how much this Lord Elrond plans to tell me.

“No.” he apparently decides. “I simply meant that I would be careful of judging him too harshly. This time of year sometimes affects him in strange ways.”

“Short-tempered and suspicious?” I blurt. I wish I could hit myself.

“At times.” He smiles again, as if enjoying a private joke, and he glances away.

I nod, pushing the rest of my food around the bowl. “So…what happened?”

He looks up.

“I mean at this time of year. What happened to make him so sad?”

Estel doesn’t answer a moment, but in that moment, I feel his eyes focus on me completely. “I did not say he was hurt.”

“Oh.” I pause, wondering if I said something wrong. “I-I’m sorry. I-I just thought that maybe something happened, and he was upset. See, I’m kind of like that too. It’s stupid, I-I guess. I just get angry when I’m upset, and then…”

I sigh, dropping my head. And then my voice breaks and I can’t talk anymore, so I just simmer in fury and unshed tears. Pathetic, I know, but at least I thought we might have that in common. I really should stop. No one is even remotely close to me here, or wants to be. I just have to pick myself up and get out of here as fast as possible.

“You are surprisingly astute, Laine Rivers.” He says finally, breaking my thoughts, and I can’t stop a spark of surprise.

Astute? I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before. I look up.

“And you are right. He lost someone…close to him near this time.”

I swallow slowly. “Oh.” I’m tempted to let it rest, to keep my mouth shut like it should, but I can’t quite keep my curiosity in check. “Wife?”

He smiles. “Legolas has never married.”

“Mother?” I guess again.

He takes in a sharp breath, picking his book up, and I glance up with a start as he gets out of his seat. An elf has entered the great hall, young and dark-haired, looking around. It only takes him a moment to spot me, but I scramble to my feet after Estel.

“Am I right?” I ask, realizing he isn’t walking away, not yet.

“He does not speak of it.” he says instead of answering, turning half way back. “…not even to me.”

It takes a moment, and that’s all I have before the elf arrives. “You’re worried about him.” It’s not a question. Among all the other concerns etched on his face, just the tone of his voice, the way he says his name leaks worry.

He sighs. I think he does that a lot.

“Don’t worry.” I smile sympathetically, and as the elf escort arrives, I say under my breath. “I’ll try not to make it worse.”

“Good.”

“Lady Rivers?”

I look up, nodding vigorously.

“Lord Elrond requests your presence.”

“Oh, a-all right.” I look around to the man behind me, suddenly nervous again, and a strange part of me doesn’t want to say the wrong thing again. “I…am very glad to have met you, Estel. I hope we can talk again.”

I sincerely hope so. He feels like the only rock here. Just his presence is solid, sturdy like stone, and somehow, a part of that seems to wear off on me. I feel better, more sure of myself.

“And I, Lady Rivers.”

“Laine, please.”

“Oh,” the dark elf speaks up, and I turn around, startled. “My lord has requested your presence as well, Estel…if you could come.”

I spin around, hopeful.

“Of course.” He looks between us, doubtful maybe. I’m not sure. Either way, he nods slightly, sliding the book into his belt. “Let us go, then.”

The elf’s clothes, russet and silver robes brushing the stone behind him, I trail after. I didn’t even notice the man’s clothes though. He doesn’t quite look like the others here, not even Faenor or Legolas. His tunic is soft and fine, like theirs, but different. I can’t quite place it. His boots look like they’ve seen better days, I notice as he walks beside and a half-step behind. A part of me feels safer with him at my back.

Really, I must be losing my mind.

A carved, deep mahogany archway appears, double doors partially shut, and the elf steps to the side, gesturing on.

“Here?”

“Here.”

The hall stretches a long ways more, and it eventually ends in an open, stone porch. I can see it from here. Estel lifts a hand, gesturing for me to enter first.

These are the only doors in sight, and I hesitate a moment, fingering the metal leaves set in their handles. They spiral up the door and down the frame, on towards the balconies, and suddenly I wonder if this is the best idea. Only when I take in a deep breath though, steeling myself, do I lift a fist and knock as faintly as possible.

“Enter.” is the immediate reply. I glance over.

“Go on.” He nods, shifting back.

_All right, here goes…_

Inside - I peer around - the evening light streams through towering windows in slender, glittering banners. Shelves full of old, dust-strewn books fill its space and scatter the floor. Atop the desk spreads pamphlets and yellow-cracked scrolls; milk-dripped candles light the dusk in a yellow glow. Beyond open windows, sunset flames orange and purple across the horizons, and on a balcony spread on a flight of stone steps, silhouetted against the pale evening sky, stands an…elf. I’m not quite sure what else to name him.

To the side, at the bottom of the stair and near a mound of dusty books, stands an old, hunched man dressed head to toe in gray. A pointed hat rests on the desk, and it takes Herculean effort not to stare. His beard reminds me of Merlin and the Round Table.

I swallow, stepping slowly to the desk and careful not to touch a thing, before coming to a stop and fidgeting with a frayed thread of my sleeve.

The elf stands so still, hands clasped behind his back…only the winds whisk his robes over the floor. A strange expression masks his face though. I can’t quite place it, wide, arching brows furrowing his forehead, lips pressed into a thin line. The face is settling in an unnerving, odd sort of way though, and slowly, my heartbeat stills to a dull pounding.

He descends the stair… I can’t help shifting back a little. The depth of the gray in his eyes is almost fathomless, and I can’t even meet them, not for long. They make Legolas’ gaze seem like a child’s, and Estel’s like shallow pools.

“Well, so this is Lady Rivers.”

I look over at the gruff, quiet voice, and I nod a little. “W-who are you?”

He laughs slightly, the old man, and even in the faint light, his eyes shine with mirth. It fades quickly, but it was there.

“I-I mean, sir.” I correct.

“No need for any of that.” He looks at Elrond pointedly, but the elf’s steady stare doesn’t ease. “I am Gandalf the Gray child, Mithrandir to elf-folk.”

I smile with effort. “Pleased to meet you.”

“See?” he looks back to Arwen’s father, who’s eyes still haven’t left me. If anything, the crease in his brows has deepened. “She has manners.”

“I have heard the girl’s words.” He doesn’t look at where he speaks. Why are they talking about me like I wasn’t here?

I swallow, looking up and wondering if he can sense the sweat breaking on the back of my neck.

“H-hi…” I cough out. “I-I mean, hello.” I shake my head, wanting to hit myself. “Sir.”

“Greetings.” He looks past me, nodding to Estel, and in the corner of my eye, I watch him sit back on a padded seat along a bright wall. He’s at home here, I realize, but I don’t have time to wonder why.

“Tell me,” Elrond sits slowly in his chair, gesturing for me to do the same, but I can’t. Gandalf remains standing as well. “Why do you think you are here?”

I think about. “Well, mostly because Legolas made me.”

Something like a laugh coughs out of Estel.

“A-and they said you were very wise, sir, that you might have answers. I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Help you.” Gandalf nods slightly, “Yes. Now, if you would tell us with what exactly, you would like help with?”

I blink. “You don’t know?”

A twitch pulls at his mouth from under the beard, but it’s not a smile. It’s more of a thoughtful twitch.

“Supposing you tell us.” Elrond supplies.

“W-well, sirs, I’m lost.” I look around, wondering how else to explain it. “I’m not where I’m supposed to be, not by a long shot. I have no idea where I am, and-and-and all I want is just go to home…sirs.”

Nothing answers a long while, and Elrond slowly steeples his fingers together. With that, he looks to Estel, and then to the old man. A few words pass between them, ones I don’t understand, and slowly, he gets to his feet. He just looks at me a long moment, before extending a hand, palm upward. I have the strangest feeling he’s decided to step into whatever he wants to say.

I inwardly cringe, but don’t move.

“Do you see this?” he asks quietly, taking my hand.

“See what, sir?” I don’t know what else to call him… my lord? Like the elves called Legolas? I don’t even know what it means. I could be praying to him, for all I know.

He doesn’t answer, before slowly, he reaches to my sleeve and slides it back. Only when I register my skin exposed to the cool air though, glancing furtively up and down, there and back… do I freeze.

I stare, grimacing in confusion, before jerking my hand free and stepping into the light. “…I-I-I don’t understand. What’s this?” An ebony black marking the size of a silver dollar twists up the inside of my wrist, and I shake my head. “What did you do to me?” Suddenly horrified, my stomach claws into my throat, and I look up. “You gave me a _tattoo_?”

I didn’t even hear his footsteps, but suddenly Estel is at my shoulder. I don’t even have time to breathe before he snatches my wrist and examines it carefully. And suddenly, he’s very serious.

“Mani re tanya?”

“I do not know.” Elrond looks to Gandalf, and though he doesn’t move, I know the old man’s eyes have taken in my arm. I shake my head, terrified.

“Don’t know? Don’t know what?”

They ignore me.

“I have seen it only once before.” Elrond side-eyes the old gray man.

“I remember it well.” Gandalf nods slowly, leaning on a strange kind of wood staff. I swallow.

“Do you know what this marking means? Do you know what it says?” he asks me, and I feel Estel’s eyes lifted to the balcony outside, narrowed, disturbed. I glance at him furtively, but he doesn’t look.

“N-no?”

Is that the right answer? Was I supposed to lie? God, I hope that was the right answer! This man looks like he could snap me in two with a single look.

“Then it is what I feared.” He shakes his head, and with that, walks past me to sit at his desk again. His fingers form a peak, taking in a deep breath and letting it go, and in that moment, he looks weary and battle-worn.

“It did not end well for him.” Estel says softly in that quiet voice of his, leaning on the doorframe near the porch. He looks down, arms loose at his sides, before turning his eyes to me. I don’t know what I see there, panting, but it’s something like pity.

I stare, but after one more look, I set to rubbing at it furiously in a desperate attempt to rid myself of it. It just doesn’t help.

The black flesh makes a figure eight in the shape of a two-headed serpent, jaws open and ready to strike, a circular disk like a cat eye between them. Why would I get something like this? It’s horrid, frightening even. Do I really have to live with this the rest of my life?

“Stop…” Gandalf shakes his head, lifting a hand, “Stop child! It cannot be removed this way.”

“Well how _can_ it?” I look up, frantic. Just looking at it sends chills down my spine, and I hide it in my arm to stop the trembles shivering up it. It’s as if the sphere glows in the dusky light, as if it could look straight through my eyes to the depths of my soul…and it makes me want to panic.

“It cannot…” he says simply, “…but by the one who gave it.”

“‘Tis the mark of Sauron’s follower,” Lord Elrond continues, “and only his demise, or the power that gave it, can remove it.”

“Sauron’s follower?” I repeat, not a little wide-eyed…

“You have no knowledge of this?”

“How could I?” I protest, “I only got here what,” I think, “…two days ago? I don’t know anything about some s-strange mark of the damned! I-I-I don’t even know how I got here! I don’t want any part of this. I don’t even belong here. It was just an accident. I just want to go home!”

“Lady Rivers -”

“- _Laine_!” I snap, feeling maddening tears swell in my eyes. I fight furiously to keep them down. “Rivers is _not_ my name.”

And then, a quiet voice breaks the pin-drop silence. “Laine.”

I look up panting, chin trembling violently, and suddenly, I find calm gray eyes above me. Shivers wrack my shoulders, but a long minute passes, and he tilts his head to the side. I lose myself in those eyes, and suddenly, all this doesn’t seem to matter so much. Again, that expression covers his features, warm. Like no matter what happened, nothing could shatter that calm.

“Laine, we are only trying to help you.”

“B-but,” I whimper, “…but he doesn’t believe me.” Now it’s my turn to talk about him like he wasn’t here. “I’m not lying, I swear. I don’t know what happened. I-I-I…”

“We know this already.” He shifts back, opening my view to the lord of Imladris, and even through tear-blurred eyes, I see his expression shift. He looks at the far wall instead of me, concentrated, disturbed, maybe even a little angry. For once though, I think it’s not aimed directly at me. It helps…a little.

“You were right,” Estel says calmly, “Lord Elrond is wise, and he knows lies when he hears them.”

I swallow shakily.

“Now,” he says even quieter, “you must tell us everything that you remember, everything prior to coming here.”

“But why? What does it matter? Why can’t you just _tell_ me what I’m doing here?”

“Laine.” He says again, and it’s enough. I can’t argue with him, and he’s not intimidating enough for me to feel stupid rebellion to.

So I falter only once, hesitating, “Y-you mean…?”

“Everything.”

I can’t move, heart pounding through my head and chewing the inside of my lip, fidgeting profusely…before suddenly, I let it go, all of it. And why not? It’s about time someone had a chance to be just as confused as I am.

I talk until I can’t talk anymore, until my voice is hoarse and no more words come. The sun is all but gone by the time I’m finished, and I run and stumble my way through every recent memory I have.

I tell them about Meghan, of the rip in the night that brought me here, the voices in my head that form just a blur. I collapse in a chair somewhere through the course of it, and I don’t even know if what I say makes any sense.

It doesn’t matter really, because it’s all I can do.

Throughout no one utters a word. Lord Elrond stares at me, Gandalf puffs a small wood pipe while peering somewhere in my direction, and Estel sits on the top step, leaning against the doorframe with a pipe between his teeth too. Elrond is the one I focus on avoiding, staring at my hands instead of the robed arm on his desk, chin in hand.

I’m glad I don’t have to lie to these eyes. I think they could see straight through me like glass. It would be a pathetic attempt trying.

The only spot I breeze over is the books I read as a child, the story where these people’s lives are just a myth. I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to be aware of in this world. All I know is that it’s very little.

“…and-and-and that’s all…” I end in a whisper, rubbing and swallowing down my parched throat. “That’s all there is.”

A long while passes. “So…you know our future?” It’s Estel, resting his hand, pipe in hand and resting on a knee as he looks out over Imladris.

“I know about you people from the books, yes.” I look away, folding and unfolding my hands, “I-I guess you could say that.”

One of Lord Elrond’s brows arch higher than the other, and he looks at me just a little harder, “Tell us.”

“Well…” I think desperately for something to remember, something that could make me useful, anything at all, and something resurfaces. I latch onto it with icy fingers. “Y-You’re having some kind of counsel right? It’s very important. You’re going to talk, and-and discuss, and think about this…ring…thing? Right? Am I right?”

Nothing breaks the silence a while, waiting breathlessly for it. But when I look up again, I find not a single pair of eyes on me. Elrond skims through a book, leafing through without a glance. I wonder if he’s even heard a thing I’ve said. The great pages creak as they turn, heavy and cracked, the only sound a minute.

“Interesting.” Gandalf finally mutters.

“Indeed.” Elrond agrees.

“S-sir…?” I whisper eventually, before easing myself out of my seat and wincing the cramps out of my legs. The book is old, I can tell that much.

“Yes…” he murmurs finally, lifting a finger and tapping a particular page. Long, faded ink swirls in strange script across its face, and I look between them, wondering if I should see a connection.

“A prophecy older than I…older than my father’s father.” he gestures to a seat and I take it, albeit reluctantly, and he leans over, ignoring my inquiring gaze to flip slowly through the next pages. Estel doesn’t look, but I hear his voice.

“I know it well.”

I blink. “I don’t.” Obviously.

“It says a child of man shall travel the gap, shall cross the thread that separates and binds these two worlds apart.”

“And you think it’s come true?” I blink, looking between them. Gandalf doesn’t answer, and Estel only looks more disturbed.

“I have no doubt.”

“Wow…” I breathe, watching the last of the sun’s rays fading slowly into evening’s dark, before half-laughing, sounding sick. “…I guess I never knew I was prophesied to trip into a portal, before.”

He looks up at that, almost glowering at me, “You are not whom the prophesy speaks of.” He states, and it feels like a blunted blow.

“If what you say of this…J.R.R. Tolkien is true,” he continues, ignoring the sharp look Gandalf sends his way. “…it is he who has kept this oracle. It is plain to me that in a future time, a future place, he found the thread that links our worlds, crossed it, and lived to write of our tales. The reason you know of Middle Earth, the reason you seem to know of this world, is because this Tolkien wrote of our peoples and our lands.”

I squint, shaking my head, and every trace of the calm Estel gave me begins disappearing. “B-but why am I here then? What happened?”

This time, it’s Gandalf who speaks. "If the girl was brought here to us from another world, another time, perhaps there is a reason. She may yet have a purpose that must be fulfilled. Need I remind you of Glorfindel?"

"Glorfindel is a noble and powerful warrior who defeated a Balrog." Elrond shoots a somewhat irritated glance.

"Then, perhaps this girl has done a noble and brave deed herself that earned her a new life."

Ouch. I guess I’m useless there, too.

“We don’t really have war." I butt in because I think they've forgotten I’m still here. “At least not like the things you’re talking about.”

"Have you never fought then?" Elrond asks, and I think he’s actually hopeful, like maybe he’s misjudged me. Like I could actually be some great and noble soldier…Boy, is he in for a surprise.

“No.” I whisper. “I…” I’m silent a moment. What am I? “I’m just a nurse. Not really that either. I’m still in college.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence.

“Well?” Gandalf breaks the silence. “What does that say? Could she not yet be a part of this?”

“No…you are not the fulfillment of this prophesy.” Elrond shakes his head slowly, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. “I believe you are right, however, Laine, in that the Dark One desired your friend, a warrior, to aide his cause. You are an anomaly, I believe, Lady Rivers, and that is all.”

I blink.

“…Do you understand?”

Estel looks away, scanning the trees, and I feel my heart sink into my stomach.

“A-an anomaly…” Does that mean what I think it means? A glitch, a stranger, a hiccup in the realms of time and space? A long minute passes, and I stare blankly. How can this be happening?

Slowly though, very slowly, I feel a bristle prick the back of my neck. “All I understand is that I’m here now…” I whisper, “…Lord Elrond, and I understand that one way or another, whether I’m meant to be or not, it’s happened. I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Of course it has, and the question up to you now is this…” he narrows his eyes, and I refuse to cringe under that stare, “What will you do now that it has?”

He begins gathering parchments from the desktop, placing them before him in a neat stack.

“But…” I freeze, suddenly realizing I hadn’t thought about it. Before I have time to though, I shake my head, blurting. “But can’t I stay here? I-I mean until I figure out how to get home?”

A dusky breeze blows through the open balcony doors, lit only by the candles scattered about the room, and slowly, he exhales and leans back in his chair. “I…am afraid not, Lady Rivers. Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood brought you here, and he has told me of the Dark Lord’s attack. Rivendell cannot stave the Dark Tower and Sauron’s wrath at once. No, you cannot stay.”

Estel looks up. “But-”

“No.” he shakes his head slowly, and in response to the furrowed, disturbed eyes of Gandalf, he lifts a hand. “We have had this discussion. No evil can stay in the walls of Imladris without attracting the Dark Tower’s attention.”

_Evil…_ I can’t even think about that now.

“B-but…but what will I do then? How will I get home?”

“That is for you to find, Lady Rivers. If you are meant to return to the place of your birth, then the Valar and Eru’s will be done.”

“Eru?” I shake my head again, “What in heck is that?”

“He is the great spirit who created this world of Arda.” Estel says softly, still staring darkly at the floor past his knee.

“But h-how did I end up here then? Did h-h-h…” I grimace, slapping my head. It’s when I need it most that my voice fails, “Did he send me here?” I manage anyway, “Did he want me to be here? Did he?”

“No, in that, I lent a hand.” He looks at me a long minute, before bracing on his fingertips. He takes a small stack of papers with him as he gets up, and places them in my arms, “I suggest you read these. They are in the common tongue.”

“And what of the girl’s survival?” Gandalf interrupts.

“Mithrandir is right, I think.” Estel gets to his feet, looking between them. “She is helpless here. We have a duty to protect her.”

Any other time I’d feel offence at that, but I don’t bother denying it. I can’t even swallow my tears down enough to protest if I wanted to.

“I have already protected her, a great deal.” Elrond glances at him.

“What did you do?” I demand, staring at him.

“I felt a rise of dark power cross these lands. I interfered, though I did not know what my sons would find.” Elrond drops his voice. “You see, if not for my actions, you would be in the dark lands of Mordor.”

Mordor…I’m not sure why, but I feel a shudder, gripping the papers to my chest. The name hardly bodes well.

“Speak not of this.” He warns. “Too many already know of the strange tidings you bring.”

I swallow, wondering how many.

“But Ada,” Estel steps forward. He continues in a language I don’t understand, and Elrond’s face softens. I know he doesn’t like doing it. I can’t deny there’s a kindness in his face. But this hopeless misery and the tears stinging my eyes don’t know it.

“You may linger long enough to plan a future,” he turns back to me, sighing.

“Th-thank you.” I whisper, and I just want to go, get out of here. But I have to say this before I do. “Thank you for everything, for letting me stay, I mean for a while, and e-explaining what you know to me…” I can’t finish. I can’t even close my mouth, floundering for words in a desperate attempt at saving myself.

He dips his head. “I consider it my duty.” The great elf pauses though, looking into my eyes, “In these dangerous times…truth is necessary for survival.”

I stand, frozen, before blurting. “C-can I go now?” I want to get out of here before the tears take hold. I can cry in solitude. I don’t need an audience to watch me sob like a pathetic child. Everything just seems to spin, out of control, confusing.

“Of course.”

I spin around, barely managing a nod of thanks to the gray-bearded man and Estel, before leaving as quickly as I can. I appreciate the step Estel takes after me, but I appreciate even more that he lets me go. In the open hall, I break into a near run.

What did he mean by that? Honesty will save us? Does he expect me to tell him what I really know? _Virtually nothing?_ The vague blur that makes a children’s story and these people’s very existence? How could I possibly? I would be a liability, a potential threat, even. He said it himself. Just my presence here is evil.

Well, I’m not useless. He said that Sauron wanted to know about Earth. Well I know enough about that…The only trouble is that makes me of use to the wrong people. Here? What do I know? What possible good am I?

“Oh no…” I shake my head

I run until I’m gasping for breath, only to find, with horror, that I don’t know where my room is. I look around, panicked, and I don’t know where I am. It’s the one ally I have, knowledge. _Knowledge is power_. I storm around a corner and ignore the twinge of pain in my side, hurrying up another flight of stairs. _Knowledge is safety, knowledge is security, knowledge is–_

Suddenly, my face slams into wall and I stagger backward with a surprised gasp. Papers fly. My stumbling shoes hit empty air.

___________

“Mani re tanya?” How did she get this?

“Lle naa kuile…” You are awake.

“Man mathach?” How do you feel?

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

“Oomph!” My face slams into wall.

Papers scatter and I bounce back, but just before the winding stair becomes a part of my face, someone flashes out and snatches my arms. I gasp and flail, but strong, calloused hands pull me stumbling forward and I gasp. As soon as I right myself, whoever it is snaps me loose, stepping back.

“Forgive me!” the man splutters. I look up in surprise, only to find that what I thought to be wall actually turns out to be leather-plated chest. I freeze, staring into sea-gray eyes.

“Please…forgive my clumsiness, my lady.” He apologizes quickly, and I blink, feeling woozy.

I’m left looking stupidly then at the top of his auburn head. He stoops to the ground, hurriedly scraping the cracked parchments together. The uncut hair shorn at his shoulders dips back up again, and only when he straightens, offering a somewhat haphazard pile of paper, I realize the half-trimmed beard around his face.

He’s another man.

“Oh, n-no.” I stammer quickly, taking the papers back and clumsily shuffling them back into order, “…Don’t apologize. Th-thanks for not letting me tumble down the stairs.”

He nearly laughs, “Of course, my lady.”

It takes another minute to gather the rest of the parchment from the stair, which I help him with, but thankfully, none of them seem to be damaged. The dried tears in my eyes are enough to make me sniff and keep hitting stray hairs back, scraping them together, but he doesn’t stare.

Half way, the man pauses, extending a hand, and it helps me up the rest of the way.

“Boromir, son of Denethor,” He bows suddenly, introducing himself, “…steward of Gondor.”

“Oh.” I stare an instant. Boromir? _Boromir_ … _Boromir._ Huh. What a nice name.

“I’m Laine.” I creak, my voice still terrible from crying. “Laine Rivers.” I stop, if possible feeling more awkward than before. The brief thought to rush on with a hurried farewell passes through my head. But instead, all of Estel’s brief tutelage flies out the window and I force a tired grin, sticking out my fingers.

“Pleased to meet you.” Something like an intrigued smile twitches at his mouth, but he hesitantly takes my hand, which I shake vigorously, “You must be here for the counsel in the morning, right?”

His eyes start, surprised, and I kick myself.

“I mean…so am I!” I laugh, and when it squeaks again, I turn it into a cough...a tight, dubious cough. A strange moment passes, shifting from leg to leg, and though I sniff one last time, rubbing my eyes, I look up at him. He just stands there, half-smiling in a queer kind of way. I stare, crunching the papers to my chest.

His eyes are creased in the corners, steady and a stormy blue. Not so very old, but tired, maybe. His clothes have seen better days...I notice. He’s handsome though, I think, and it makes me fidget again. Compared to these elves, I’m used to feeling like a toad. They’re…well, _elves_. I suppose it’s to be expected. But him…if I had to guess, he dove into the gene pool headfirst at birth.

“My apologies again for striking you, my lady.” He says hesitantly, as if wondering whether to leave.

“Oh,” I shake my head, dropping my eyes. “That happens all the time, don’t worry. People run me over a lot.”

The man’s eyes flick over my clothes, lingering on the holes in my jeans, nodding in agreement. And suddenly, with a sinking feeling, I wonder if a derogatory comment or strange look is coming. I push the bangs out of my face a little nervously, tugging the strap out of my stubby braid. But it doesn’t. He just shakes his head, tilting his head to one side with a tired, yet irresistible smile.

“Well, I see it must have been _quite_ a hunting expedition, Lady Rivers.”

“Hunting expedition…” I repeat a little flat, “Oh! Yes.” I laugh awkwardly. “Actually, it was orc. They attacked my group on the borders of Rivendell. And I was the barely conquering prey, not hunter.”

Boromir throws his head back and laughs, and I smile slightly. I think it’s the first real laugh I’ve heard all day, even though I don’t really see what’s so funny. I could have died.

“I see, now.” He shakes his head, sending the damp tails of coppery hair swishing over his broad shoulders. He looks so much kinder when he laughs that I smile easier. Something disturbed, deep and angry even, leaves his eyes and he lifts a hand. I wonder who he’s just been talking to.

“Yet you call this place Rivendell?” he breaks in. “I believed it was Imladris, or something of the sort, to its natives.”

“Oh, right.” I slap my head. “But I don’t come from here. I came in with…” I stop suddenly, hesitating. “the Mirkwood elves.”

“Ah.” The man nods, and something like a frown creases his brows together, as if reliving a particularly distasteful memory. “Then we are both strangers here.”

_What an understatement…_ Yeah, and I’m trying to get back and change for Lord Elrond’s….” I hesitate, “feast?”

“Well my lady, I journey there myself.” He glances around, slowly turning around to move on, but the way he came, “Only I’ve seemed to have lost my way. These halls are a maze. Queer folk, the elves.”

I nod, agreeing completely…before he pauses suddenly, realizing what he said.

“Don’t worry,” I say quickly, realizing he must think I take offence. How could he know that I’ve been an elf for a grand total of two days? “I know. I’m not sure where I am, either. Every hall looks the same.”

“In that case,” he pauses, obviously amused, pleased even, before gesturing with a leather-stitched arm. “If we look for the same lost Great Hall of Rivendell then, we may as well look together.”

I heft the papers higher, feeling some of the lost, lonely and miserable feelings fade, before bowing graciously and sweeping an arm in the direction I think we need to go. “We may as well, sir.”

                          

 

*************aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

 

Ah…Rivendell in all its beauty, all its comforts of home!

Legolas came out in his pants, rubbing a towel through his hair. He’d spent most of the evening in a bath; the room Elrond gave him was steamed up and warm still. It emitted heady scents of soaps into the cool bedroom, and his clothes were thrown over the dark-cushioned, double bed.

He felt better than he had in weeks. Ever since the spiders and the darkness in his Homewood, this kind of openness was impossible there. Legolas glanced out the balcony doors, the vast windows letting in the last sprays of dusky light.

The elf had all the view of Imladris from here, and as he dressed for the feast and dried himself, he couldn’t help wondering if his father would appreciate Rivendell like he did. _His mother would have_ …he knew it. She would have loved the trees here. It waned in recent times, he thought as he pulled on his boots, but she would have loved the life in these woods, the light… He pushed the thought away.

Now was not the time.

A great mirror yawned atop the bureau and he stooped, re-braiding his hair. Legolas wondered if there would be merriment at this dinner. A calm before the storm, maybe. He didn’t mind. Telling Rivendell of his and his people’s failure to keep that wretched creature, Gollum…It sent a queasy feeling through his stomach. The one he worried about telling most was Estel…

They’d talked so often of what a miserable journey it was from Mordor to the Greenwood! What would he say now that all his toil was for naught?

Legolas shuddered.

He tied off the braid behind his ear, before slipping into a silky, silver shirt that brushed his thighs and felt good on his skin. Around this, he strapped a belt and laced guards up his forearms for the sake of formality. It was unlikely Estel would be there, at least, given his distraction with the little hobbit Legolas heard tell of. But if he did, was he expected to tell him of the creature’s escape? Would Aragorn think him disloyal if he postponed it as long as possible?

Legolas sighed…watching his own reflection peer back at him. He just didn’t know.

The halls were abuzz outside. He was on his way to the Great Hall. It was longer than usual since he’d been here, but he still remembered the way.

In the sheltered green of a porch, a trio of three young elleth talked together, and though it took him an instant to notice, the nearest, strikingly pretty in the violet dress she wore, caught his eyes. Legolas didn’t mean to, but his pace slowed and he hesitated. In the same instant though, she nodded the others’ attention to him and they dropped their voices to whispers and glances…giggles… He froze.

Oh, Elbereth…no! They hadn’t heard of the curse he brought to Rivendell, surely not yet!

But in a wave of revelation, he found his worries were for nothing. Where he would have blushed probably and walked on, he paused instead. Their smiles were shy and flirtatious…not condescending.

“Elleth.” He bowed hurriedly, glancing between them.

“Prince Legolas…” The nearest curtsied a little.

Legolas sighed, eyeing her. So that was it. That title and his presence here was most likely common knowledge, then. Either way, he didn’t stay to exchange words. He wasn’t up to carrying on a conversation with even one of the creatures, never mind three.

The great oak doors came into view and he spotted Faenor entering ahead of him. When he was nearly there though, his sharp eyes spotted a sweep of blue partially hiding behind a statue. He smiled, speeding up. Spending time in casual conversation with them was one thing, but this was another matter. She was alone and he had a double-doored escape.

And then, he realized, she was not alone...far from it.

“My lady…” He took a gracious bow, touching his heart and then sweeping away in a customary salute. It always pleased them immensely when he did this, but now it was a sign of respect.

“Lord Legolas.” Arwen smiled warmly. It was a long time since he’d seen it. “I was hoping to see you here. I heard of your arrival.”

“Yes…” he agreed, glancing wryly behind him. “So has the _rest_ of Imladris, it would seem.”

“I will _try_ to keep them from you, Legolas.” She laughed a little, before gesturing. “And you are just in time. Perhaps, while you are here…” she dropped her voice, “you could coax our guest into join the feast?”

Legolas looked up, smiling slightly…before his smile froze.

Blue-green eyes looked at him, arms folded around herself, back against the wall. A stone statue barred his view some, but there was no mistaking that expression… _Impossible._

“I must greet the guests.” Arwen nodded to him, ignoring his stunned expression, before sweeping away in a whisper of silk on stone. She cast an odd glance over her shoulder though, one that made Laine’s eyes drop to the floor.

Slowly, Legolas stepped forward, one boot in front of the other, like he edged around a slumbering goblin.

“I didn’t know you were so polite...” She said quietly, a little sarcastic.

“Lady Rivers.” He wasn’t sure if he was shocked, pleased, or angered at the expression that crossed her silly face, like she tasted something sour, but he was too busy staring to care.

The dirt, tangles and twigs were gone from her hair, clean and shining fringe that fell so often in her eyes was tied or swept back. The rest tumbled down her neck in tousled waves. _Where had she gotten all that?_

The midnight blue dress hung strangely low around her shoulders though, and when she shifted a little, uncomfortable, it confirmed his suspicion... The dress was too big. It drew his eyes to the small, dewdrop necklace sparkling and dancing just above the bare curve of her chest. He stared.

“What…the great Thranduilion wordless?” She widened her eyes in mock amazement. Dark paint like he’d never seen before framed them, smudged into shadow. _Strange…_ It didn’t really matter though, because he never guessed under all the blood, dirt, and tears there was really a woman there.

“I…simply did not recognize you.” He excused himself finally. “…before.”

“A mouthful, that.” She smiled, folding her arms tighter. The movement caused the gem against her skin to dance and sparkle, and he didn’t mean to glance at it.

“What…” he repeated, managing to reign in his nerves. Why hadn’t he expected it? After all, Lord Elrond asked no other than his daughter, the Evenstar, most beautiful of _all_ Eldar, to help her.

Well…he decided ruefully…it was good she’d managed to do _something_ with the thing.

“Thranduilion,” she smirked, eyes still down.

_Sweet Eru…_ He whipped his head up, “Who told you that name?” Legolas snapped.

She blinked, but didn’t flinch. “Oh, i-it’s all right.” Laine shrugged, and it was that scoff which was indeed Laine Rivers again. “It isn’t _that_ terrible a name.”

Legolas wasn’t ashamed of it, but he didn’t like this turn of events. He shook his head, looking away…before staring at the thing warily. “Then, you know?”

He didn’t know why he cared that even Rivers knew this title, but a small place, very deep and very far down…did. At least her disrespectful, frustrating and brash treatment of him was real. Who knew what she’d be like now that she knew he was a prince?

Laine squinted, confused, “About your name? Of course, Lord Elrond said it.”

Then…it struck him. This woman didn’t even know Thranduil, lord of all Greenwood was king! He narrowed his eyes, peeved. What elf in Arda wouldn’t recognize his father’s rule? Unless she spoke the truth before, about being of another world, not even a true child of Eldar…

The thought was too confusing to keep long, and he shook his head, straightening.

“No…never mind.” Legolas gestured to the door, only a little impatient. “Well, do you plan to enter, or do you plan to malinger in the halls until they evict you for loitering? You heard Arwen request your presence in the hall.”

Laine laughed at his first question, but to his surprise, she shrunk back a little at the last. “No, I…I don’t think so.”

“Lord Elrond has requested it.” Legolas shifted on his feet, “…though I know not why. Still, you are a guest in his house, and it is only proper to obey.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“Why?”

“I look _ridiculous_.”

He squinted, looking her up and down. There was nothing strangely wrong with her to the naked eye, except perhaps the shortness of her hair.

Legolas folded his arms. “Lady Rivers, I am not standing here for the duration of the evening. Do you plan to enter, or not?”

“Not.”

“Very well.” He nodded, shifting back. He wasn’t going to let that…thing, ruin his evening. “Stay out here, but you’ll not likely eat if you won’t come out.”

Legolas only cast one more look before spinning around, waving a brief farewell and striding through the doors. A part of him was glad. If she wasn’t there at the feast, then he wouldn’t be tempted to stare at her, watching to see how much of the Laine he knew was under that silly dress. The elves of Imladris would notice.

“You didn’t manage to convince her?”

Legolas looked up, before shaking his head overly sadly. “My apologies. She would not be swayed.”

Arwen’s dark eyes dropped a little, watching him, before sighing. “Thank you for trying in any case, Legolas. Please, join the guests...and enjoy yourself.”

Roast meat and ale were brought into the great hall. They pushed great oak tables together to make one, and lanterns lapped at the ceiling and stone columns in flashing, bright yellow light. Veil-draped archways led out into the night, and as the breeze stirred them, glimpses of starlight flickered through. The hall was amass in a cacophony of murmuring voices and clattering dishes; the smells were overwhelming. The dwarves, Legolas noticed with a dark glance though, were the loudest of all.

“A seat, my lord?” Faenor stood out of his chair as Legolas came up beside.

“Have you seen Estel?” he whispered, glancing around. The man was nowhere in sight…but you never could tell. Legolas cursed the day his foster brothers taught him so well. That Dunedain was light on his feet like an elf.

“I have not.” The captain blinked in surprise, and Legolas sighed.

“Good.”

“Please tell me you are not _still_ afraid of telling him, Legolas.” Faenor said in a murmur, using his name for once. They settled into their seats opposite the Gondorian men.

“I simply have not the desire to, Faenor. There is a difference.” Legolas traced his wineglass with a finger, shifting in his seat…before admitting. “Well, perhaps not. But anyway, he is not here and I have not avoided telling him.”

“No… Only avoided him.”

Legolas shot a dark glance. “Do you see the venison near your plate?” He nodded a little, and Legolas looked away pointedly. He could use his mouth for something useful, at least.

Grins came from the Gondorian men then at the roast boar brought through the doors, but they kept throwing furtive glances to the elves giving it. Legolas nearly smiled. What did they think they’d do? Their nervousness was more entertaining than the strumming lyres and distant songs filling the starlit night.

“Look, Pip!” came a high, hushed voice then, and Legolas started. “…Greenwood elves.”

Halflings, periannath, Legolas realized. There were three of them, another dark haired one beside them. He was talking to a redheaded dwarf Legolas recognized from years ago: Gloin... Ah, yes! He was one of the thirteen who set out on that gods-forsaken journey to the Lonely Mountain. The one named Sam, staring at Legolas with wide, brown eyes quickly dropped them when the elf noticed though.

“Halflings.” Legolas stated, setting his knife down and taking a sip of wine. “You are a long way from home, are you not?” The shire was many weeks’ journey from here. They must have come with the one named Frodo.

“Aye, master elf, we are!” Pippin said through a mouth of food, with a cheerful smile that made his face look lopsided.

With another glance, a little curious, Legolas noticed the surreptitious looks thrown their way from the one called Sam. The third—he didn’t know his name—chatted endlessly with Frodo and the dwarf. What interesting creatures they were, though! He’d never actually seen halflings with his own eyes, before Bilbo the burglar… The memory of the little hobbit made him smile.

And suddenly, the double-doored entrance was filled with a man. Legolas looked up with just his eyes, looking at him through his water glass. And not just any man, but the incorrigible man of Gondor, son of _Denethor_.

Legolas narrowed his eyes.

He had the privilege of meeting him earlier. The man seemed to believe, in no uncertain terms, that the woodelves were doing even less to fight the dark forces of Mordor than their kin. Legolas hadn’t had the force of will to explain the years they’d battled fiercely not just goblins, but _yrch_ and spiders from their Homewood. How their troops were attacked constantly, the _ellon_ and _elleth_ who died every year protecting the king’s stronghold. He doubted the man would care…. Even the memory left a distasteful taint in his mouth.

Then, the elf realized the man was not alone. He had a woman with him…Laine Rivers? A little hesitant maybe, but he nodded to the feast and back again, and with another encouraging word, she reluctantly followed him to their seats.

Legolas frowned. How typical.

“Friends, visitors from afar…” Elrond spoke from the head of the table, and a respectful hush fell over the table. Boromir took the seat opposite Legolas and one down, Laine beside, but only because the seat was reserved for him and there was no other. She settled next to the hobbits, and with a surprised grin, stared at their pointed ears and curly, thick hair. Legolas looked away, glad for the distraction.

“Some of you have travelled long. Take comfort here, and in what hope there is. Enjoy the hospitality of the Last Homely House!”

After that, Legolas didn’t plan to stay long. The food was delicious, cooked to perfection, but it couldn’t outweigh the company sitting across from him.

“…you’re-you’re not _dwarves,_ then?”

Legolas glanced up, and across the expanse of table, Rivers was staring wide-eyed at the one called Pippin.

“Dwarves?” he laughed, wiping his mouth. “Oy, no. We’re hobbits!”

“Hobbits…”

“From the Shire?”

“I…I’ve never heard of the Shire.” She whispered, before grinning. “I’ve never seen a hobbit either!”

“Don’t feel bad. Not a great many have, you know.”

“Well, I’m Laine.” She extended a hand, and ignoring the butter he rubbed off on his pants, the hobbit excepted and they shook.

“Peregrin Took,” he grinned. “Pippin.”

“Nice to meet you, Pippin.” She smiled, before asking curiously. “Your accent, is that Welsh or something?”

“Accent?” he blinked.

“Oh!” Laine laughed, before shaking her head. “Middle earth…right, never mind. My bad.”

Legolas resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

It was obvious the hobbit was confused, but he laughed with her anyway. Laine knew it, judging by the relief shining in her eyes. They then proceeded to introduce each other by name, nickname, and soon by family history. It would seem the hobbit he didn’t know was called Merry. It also seemed one of them inherited his strange ways from a Faerie ancestor. The idea nearly made Legolas laugh, but he kept his head down, pretending not to listen.

Soon, he realized the conversation had shifted course. He was only glad the man named Boromir stayed out of it, more focused on conversing in whispered murmurs with his captain.

“-Yeah, it’s kind of complicated.” Laine muttered in response to a questioning Merry. “I came in with Thranduilion and his entourage, but I’m not really from anywhere.”

“You mean you wander? Who’s Th…thranduilion?”

“Kind of.” She shrugged, pointedly ignoring Legolas’ direction when she dropped her voice. He wouldn’t have heard the whisper with mortal ears, but he couldn’t help it now. “That’s his highness over there.”

“ _Highness_?” they whispered more loudly, and a smile quivered at Legolas’s mouth. He hastily took a swallow of wine to cover it.

“Yeah…the way he acts, you’d think he was a duke or something.” Laine muttered, and beside him, Faenor began laughing in the most un-elvish way. She must have looked up, because he turned it into a convincing cough.

Legolas shielded his face with a drumstick and shot a warning look.

“I’m really not from around here, anyway.” Rivers spoke up again, “I guess you could tell.”

“Aye, we kind of could.” Pippin agreed cheerfully…but from there, the conversation shifted to mushrooms.

“I believe I’ll take my leave.” Legolas said quietly to Faenor, before looking up.

Lord Elrond glanced to him from the head of the table, acknowledging his nod of approval. Arwen looked at him with a touch of concern, but he just thanked Elrond for the feast and slid out of his seat.

_What a relief…_

Legolas breathed a gust of clean, night air outside, and he leaned on the porch rails. Past the sheer curtains sheltering the feast, he heard the constant talk blur into the quiet murmur of distant conversation. He walked until he couldn’t hear it anymore, until the twitter of night birds was the only sound that drifted to his ears, the whir of wind through stone columns.

This was what he looked forward to all evening…blessed silence. And then…

“Legolas?”

The elf froze, staring ahead.

Moonlight streamed through the open porch, and nearby, a statue of a cloaked woman knelt, extending the shards of Narsil. On a pure white bench, reading a leather-bound book, sat Estel. He was dressed in a loose, velvet tunic, calm gray eyes narrowed on him in concern.

“Aragorn…” Legolas back-stepped, heart leaping into his throat. “I believe I forgot something. I must go…now! I-“

“Legolas, stop.” Aragorn set the book aside and was on his feet, reaching to stop him. “Please, _mellon nin,_ listen to me. Wait.”

What else could he do? Legolas sighed, grimacing. Aragorn quickly stepped around, placing his hands on the elf’s shoulders to stop any chance of retreat. He looked him sternly in the eyes.

“You have refused to speak to me since my arrival. What has happened?”

Legolas looked away. _Oh, why hadn’t he stayed at the feast?_ He couldn’t get away now!

“It is nothing. I have simply been…busy. I could not have visited you before.”

“Come, Legolas. I might not be of the Eldar,” Aragorn warned, “but I was not born yesterday.”

“Truly, it is nothing, Estel! I am fine. _We_ are fine. I just…need to leave over there…” he pointed weakly.

“You are _avoiding_ me, Legolas. I fear I’ve offended you. Tell me what it is, that I might apologize!”

The elf dropped his eyes, suddenly feeling guilt consume him like a sinking pit in his stomach. One way or another, Estel would have to learn that he’d let his creature go. _But why now?_

“Legolas, I am not leaving you be until I know what troubles you.”

“Stubborn Dunedain that you are...” Legolas muttered, frowning.

Estel looked at him, dropping his hands slowly from the elf’s shoulders. A long minute passed, standing before each other in silence, one’s eyes on the floor and the other on his friend. Finally, Aragorn spoke quietly.

“It is not something with the time of year…?”

“That has _nothing_ to do with this.” Legolas snapped, flashing his eyes up angrily.

Aragorn didn’t flinch, but he looked closer. “Then what?”

“I…no, forgive me.” Legolas said quietly, taking a deep breath and steeling himself.

Estel, of all people didn’t deserve his ire. Legolas wouldn’t admit it, but his mother’s passing did have something to do with his mood. Sometimes, when the fall leaves turned color and flew to the ground, the memories caught him off guard. He would sink into them and they would consume him, just for a time, making him irritable and restless.

“Tell me.” Aragorn murmured, before placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding Legolas to the bench. He didn’t resist.

“I…fear I bring ill news with me.” Legolas said carefully, keeping his eyes on Estel’s, watching for sadness, distress, even anger. “A fortnight ago, on a moonless night, the creature Gollum escaped.”

Aragorn blinked.

“It was for pity!” Legolas said quickly. “There was a tree he loved to climb, and so they let him out sometimes. The thing was so wretched, so miserable, how could we not? But one night, he wouldn’t come down until even fell. His guards were attacked; many were wounded. But in the chaos, the creature escaped and we believe the _yrch_ took him.” Then, Legolas closed his fists, staring at them. “Forgive me, Estel. It was my responsibility to keep him.”

A long moment passed, and Aragorn rested his chin in hand, thinking. A distant chime only broke the silence, rushing of the falls filling the air. The peaceful calm of Rivendell was trying to ease him into feeling soothed. It helped…a little. _What was he thinking?_ Was he angry?

“Well, you are right in that the news is disturbing.” Aragorn murmured finally, flicking his eyes upward. “But not dire. Is it truly what has bothered you so?”

“Of course.” Legolas said, “obviously.”

“I am surprised you could not simply tell me this, Legolas.”

“But you travelled weeks to capture that wretched creature!” He protested.

Aragorn smiled at that. “Not every failed mission are you directly responsible for; you know this. It is an unfortunate accident, only that. Nothing more.”

Well…Legolas stared…that was unexpected. _But why?_ He thought carefully, leaning back and staring at him. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Aragorn was like that, ever patient, ever giving. He took the responsibility on himself, gave it to no one. He didn’t blame others. He took the problem at hand and dealt with it, worked with what he had, taking the best choice left him.

“Forgive me…”

“There is nothing to forgive, my friend.”

Truly _,_ what a king he was! His spirit swelled and he felt proud to call this man his friend.

Legolas inhaled deeply. “Thank you…Estel.” He said quietly, reining in his feelings. His face didn’t shift, an expressionless mask, before he smiled. “You know not what it means to hear this from you.”

Aragorn glanced away and back again, the faint smile fading. “Sometimes, that is all one needs, _mellon_.”

Legolas sighed, agreeing completely and looking out over the night scene of Rivendell. How true it was. Sometimes a moment of peace, an understanding nod or a breath of air was all he needed to ease his nerves. All of these days, weeks of worrying…gone.

“I wonder if there are other…similar, misunderstandings among us.” Aragorn commented lightly then, tracing the cover of his book with a finger.

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked quietly, wary.

“I was in the Dining Hall earlier.” He said, resting an arm on the back of the bench. “…I spoke with a certain Laine Rivers.”

Legolas sighed. “Oh…her.” He supposed he owed it to Aragorn now, not to leave at the change of subject.

“She seems to think that you--how did she put it--can’t stand her?” Judging by his expression, he was on the verge of laughter.

The elf didn’t answer, but he nodded slowly. “Surprisingly astute observation skills.”

“I noticed.” Aragorn agreed. “I’d not underestimate them, my friend.”

Legolas shook his head and looked over, incredulous. “Who…her?” he scoffed. “She is a strange elleth whom I have not the patience to understand. That is all.”

“What happened, Legolas? Not even Lord Elrond can discern the girl’s birthplace, history, nothing. Only that she might be from afar. You must have formed these opinions quite quickly. Where did you meet?”

Legolas shifted, uncomfortable.

“Yes?” Aragorn encouraged, before folding his fingers. “I could always ask the elleth for this story, Legolas. I thought you’d prefer I hear it from you.”

“No! I would…I would.” He said quickly, before sighing. “We came upon her in the woods just outside of lmladris. She was dressed…strangely.”

“To put it mildly.”

Legolas told him of the strange weapon she fired at them, a so-called ‘ _gun’_ , and how he’d given it to Lord Elrond for safe-keeping. She was afraid, obviously, but he glazed over the part of the blow to his manhood. He told Estel some of the strange things she said instead, words like ‘ _jeep’,_ places that she said where they held no meaning, things that she shouldn’t know…and yet she did.

“In all, as I’ve said, she is incorrigible.”

“Well…” Aragorn said after a long while. “she seems to have formed fast opinions of you as well, Legolas. So I can hardly seek to judge you.”

“Opinions?” He blinked. “What opinions?”

At that, Aragorn smiled mysteriously, reopening his book. Legolas stared, wondering just what that…thing, said about him. And then, he sighed in defeat. “Very well, Estel. But I feel you enjoy this too much.”

Aragorn blinked, sparing him another glance, sea gray eyes innocent. “I would never, my friend. ‘Tis obvious the entire ordeal has caused you _much_ grief, and I would not think of taking amusement from your pain.”

“I hope you sleep well.” Legolas muttered sarcastically, before clapping the man’s arm as he got to his feet. Even as he left though, his elven ears picked up the smallest laugh chuckling from the Dunedain’s throat.

How cruel his friend could be, sometimes.

 

********************************************* aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

_His mother…_

I stare glumly at my plate, pushing a pool of roasted beans around in circles. Curiosity about this counsel I’m supposed to attend tomorrow can’t break me out of this melancholy. Not even the happy chatter of the hobbits in my ear can.

I’m an idiot. I really am. I also think I’ve had too much to drink.

Somehow, I just didn’t think of it... I thought he was stubborn, chauvinistic, aloof, and possibly a little mad. Could he really just miss his mother? I wonder.

“What’s the matter, Laine?” comes a voice, Pippin I think. “Isn’t the food any good? Mine’s delicious!”

I sigh. “It’s fine. It’s just a little hard swallowing…” _with all this guilt in the way._

Of course that isn’t the end of it and he has to feel my head and my hands. ‘Checking for fever’, he says in that cute accent of his, and I shake my head.

“No, no…I’m fine.” I look up, shaking my head and feeling guilty at the thought. He’s supposedly a grown man, not _cute_.

“If you’re feeling poorly,” Sam says from beyond him. “Just let us know. Glad to help, we are.”

Good Sam. Nice Sam.

And then…finally Lord Elrond gets to his feet. Arwen follows him up, and at some signal that I don’t see, the elven occupants of the table leave down the hall toward a great open chamber. The rest follow, even Boromir and his soldiers. I bounce on my toes, looking over their shoulders, and I hear Gandalf as he bends closer to Frodo.

“This is the Hall of Fire,” says the wizard. “Here you will hear many songs and tales…if you can keep awake. But except on high days, it usually stands empty and quiet, and people come here who wish for peace and thought. There is always a fire here, all the year round, but there is little other light.”

_Hall of Fire…_ sleeping…sounds nice. But before I have a chance to give into the urge, I whisper to Merry, I think. “I’m tired. I think I’m just going to go back to my room, if anyone asks, okay?”

“Okay…?” He looks up, before nudging Pippin with an elbow. “Have any idea what ‘okay’ means, Pip?” he whispers loudly.

I shake my head. “Oh, sorry. It means ‘all right’ where I come from. Okay?”

He apparently thinks about it, before grinning. “Okay, okay.”

“I’m just gonna go talk to Legolas and go to bed.”

I wave on my way out the door, already thinking about where to find the elf in order to apologize, how fast I could get back to my room, and how long it would take to get to sleep…when someone snatches my arm. I gasp, whirling around in surprise, before covering my mouth.

“Boromir…” I breathe, exhaling hard and staring up at the dark, auburn beard framing his mouth. I resist the urge not to stagger back. _Focus, Laine._ Focus.

“I could not help but overhear, Lady Rivers.” The man dressed in a russet tunic slowly lets my arm go. “You plan to speak with the elf?”

I’m not sure why, but I drop my head, giving into the urge and shuffling back a little. His dark eyes are shadowed, and I feel a prick tingle up the back of my neck...

The rest of the group moves on, leaving us alone. Just before they disappear into the fire lit room completely though, Gandalf pauses, glancing back. I stare at him from beyond Boromir’s shoulder, caught wordless for some reason, and under the shade of his gray frazzled hair, a look of warning glints through his blue eyes.

“I…I’m going to, yes.” I say carefully.

“I was just wondering, Laine, how well you know this…Legolas.”

I nearly laugh. “Not very well, at all. I wouldn’t say ‘know’ is even the right word.”

“But your acquainted with him…?”

I nod a little.

“How much do you think he knows about the reason all of us are here?”

I stare, looking into his bearded face and inquiring, guarded eyes. I’m not quite sure what he means, and I can’t meet his stony gaze. I drop my head. “I-I don’t know. I’m just kind of a…a visitor here. I really don’t know anything about him, or this place, or anything.”

I kick myself an instant later. I’m supposed to know all about this place! I’m supposed to have valuable information. _That’s why I’m here_ … that’s why they’re still keeping me around. _Oh well_. Maybe I can lie better later when I’m not so exhausted.

He leans back a little, studying me, as if considering telling me something I don’t know. “I see…” He murmurs, and then, he bows low. “Thank you, Lady Rivers.” He smiles, before taking my fingers in a small squeeze. I stare, stunned. “You have been a help.”

“You’re welcome,” I blink, slowly dropping back. “…I-I think.”

“Sleep well.”

“Thanks.” I whisper, before waving weakly, hurriedly making my exit. He just looks after me as I disappear into the night, leaning a shoulder on the stone column, thinking.

_What was that all about?_ I have no idea. I break into a powerwalk to get away though, lifting my skirts and scurrying up a flight of stairs. He looked at me like a queer kind of book to read, mounds of information just waiting to be gleaned. _What has he heard about me?_ About the mark on my arm, or Sauron’s plan? The thought makes me shiver... No, that’s not possible. Elrond said it was a secret. _What, then…?_

And so, it takes the peace and quiet that is Rivendell to calm my nerves.

I’m not sure how long I wander as the silence of night closes in. My pace slows though, and a chill falls over me. I look around, listening to the rustling leaves in the quiet night air. Rivendell is made of a latticework of porches and bridge-ways criss-crossed through the trees and lining the woods floor. Domed buildings and white, stone and wood buildings glow in the night-light, ethereal, like a village grown right from the forest.

Slowly, I rub my arms, feeling the pale blue silk on my skin rustle in the breeze. I’ve never felt anything like it before, the sheer, perfect material, hand-stitched I’d imagine. A long balcony, open to the sweet scented, garden air overlooks the valley and I sigh, tired and wondering where I’m going. _Where could he be?_ In his room? Heaven knows I’m not going there, even if I knew where it was. _Maybe I should just go to bed…_

I look around, sighing. The very air seems close and alone here, even with the distant sound of voices drifting through the trees… And suddenly, I find who I look for.

I was starting to think I couldn’t actually do it. The illusive elf seems to appear and disappear at will…and yet here he is. I freeze. There’s no mistaking that soft, pale hair whisking over his shoulders in the breeze, and he looks out over Rivendell with the same kind of expression as in the woods those days ago…distant. The guards on his forearms have been tossed to a stone bench, his belt too, leaving just a loose, silver tunic hanging from his shoulders.

I stare at his back, curious.

Whether his mind is here or not, or drifting on the wind maybe, I can’t bring myself to move any more. Shifting closer would be much too dangerous. Further away would draw attention to myself. All is quiet, and as I hold my arms, shuffling from one foot to the other, I wonder if I should just leave. He doesn’t like me, and when I’m around him, I feel stupid…So why am I still here? Why even bother?

I fiddle with the stubby, frayed braid on my neck where I took the pins out. I study my shoes then, the ones I insisted on wearing beneath the trails of dress. Already, I feel strange wearing them. Tiny, clear flecks in the stone floor shine in the starlight though, and it distracts me. I even watch a leaf skid past, tumbling and careening over the porch ledge, only to sway back and forth on the breeze into blur… anything but him.

“Is there something you require?”

I snap my head up.

Legolas hasn’t turned. He doesn’t even shift, not a stir or a blink. His eyes haven’t left the sky either, and my throat slowly seizes up. Suddenly, I wish I hadn’t decided to come. Nothing but the vines scratching at the porch roof breaks the quiet, and I tilt my head from side to side, trying to loosen my cinched nerves.

“I-it’s nothing.” I whisper.

A few minutes pass, before his voice stirs the silence again. This time, it’s a little less quiet, and I feel the elf pulling out of his dream-like trance. His gaze drops from the skies and focus on his folded hands. He studies them absent-mindedly. “If it were nothing, Rivers…you would not be here.”

I lower my eyes, before carefully, I place one foot in front of the other. I lean on the rail, facing him, and I fidget with the stone. “I…I guess, I just wanted…” I break off.

_God, what am I doing?_

He says absolutely nothing, and when I trail off, he slowly turns a sideways glance. It makes me want to hide my face, so I do. I rub my eyes with my fingers.

“I…I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

This surprises him. I can tell by the shift in his eyes, an almost infinitesimal downturn to his mouth. He blinks.

“I…I’m sorry for being such a,” I think about it, squirming inside, before giving into the tired, rational part of me that tells me to do it, “…a bitch.”

His fingers snap closed, “A what?”

I look up, just my eyes. “A…a bitch?”

He just stares at me, and almost instantly, I want to cry out _._ Oh, what have I done now? I can’t even apologize right? He just stares at me! Doesn’t he know how hard it is to stand here? What do I have to do…beg?

Well, I won’t.

“Fine!” I snap angrily, pushing from the rail and stalking past him. My voice cracks pathetically. “ _Be_ that way.”

I almost trip walking away, and I curse this silly dress as furiously as his shocked, stupid face. I’m glad. I should be sleeping for that…that _counsel_ in the morning, anyway. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place! At least he doesn’t see the maddening tears that swell in my eyes.

Why did I bother? Elf or not, he’s just like a million others: incorrigible.

Legolas is left staring after me, stunned.

 

 

**Author’s Note: Many, many apologies for taking so very long on this update, but please be patient. They’ll be able to come much more regularly and quickly now. I’ve been busy writing other things is all, and this was a very hard chapter to right. Please let me know if you'd like me to add chapter titles to these, to make things easier. Anyway, next up, Counsel of Elrond and some secrets coming to light... hope you enjoy! :)**

 


	8. The Great Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In this chapter, I realize that everyone seems to know the scene of Elrond’s counsel, and everyone seems to write it into their story anyway. But, I’d like Laine to sort of come to terms with things here (and in the arguments afterward), so thnx for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy:)

 

__________________________________________________

**Chapter Eight**

\- The Great Counsel -

__________________________________________________

“Strangers from distant lands… friends of old.”

I fidget with my hands, sitting in a wood-backed chair and looking around, chewing my cheek. Fall colors fill the trees and the fresh, cool air of Imladris would fill my lungs if I weren’t too nervous to breathe it in. At least twenty people are gathered here, arranged in a semi-circle on a leaf-strewn terrace.

Estel, just to my right, glances over his gray eyes, before smiling slightly. Every presence here feels…bigger than me, more important. I feel like a cat in a streetlight, sitting here with all of these men. _What exactly am I doing here?_ The reassurance is gone as soon as it was there though, and Estel flicks his gaze back to Lord Elrond.

The great elf stands at the head of the circle, tall and stately. His dark gaze is solemn, arched brows lifted as he scans the gathering. I find myself staring at the tiny plaits dangling down his neck…wondering if he braids his hair himself.

“You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth          stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate...this one doom.”

Then, he looks to Frodo, looking so small next to Gandalf and the elves beside him. Legolas is among them, I know, dressed in the same silvery wrap around his shoulders. His gaze flicks to me, tempting me to catch his eyes. _What does he want?_ Show me a superior, unbothered smile and then look away, smug? I turn away, ignoring him.

“Bring forth the ring, Frodo.”

Slowly, the hobbit flicks his cerulean eyes from one wary gaze to the next, before approaching the plinth. His hairy feet are silent on the stone, like the air, before he draws something from his pocket. He sets a small, pure gold band atop the pedestal, and suddenly, the world changes…

I stare, stunned.

Fire…ash and brimstone, lonely desolation flashes through my head and I gasp. Nothing but death and decay, everywhere. I grimace, fighting it, but it hits me like the fierce crashing of waves before I can stop. I see forests that I never knew existed, mountains crushed…and then cities, my cities. New York is burning, San Francisco, London…ashes. St. Paul is nothing more than rubble.

_They could be spared…_ comes a whisper, like a thousand murmurs melted into a single, black voice. Like a clap of thunder, a flaming eye snaps through the dark and I flinch, gripping my seat…before it’s gone. The instant Frodo’s fingers leave it, the world clears again and I gasp, flashing open my eyes.

_What…what happened?_ I look around. No one noticed! _No one saw it but me?_ I look around desperately, searching their troubled eyes. Only Gandalf looks at me from under gray, shaggy brows, blue eyes fixed on me.

“Estel!” I whisper urgently, and he lifts a hand. It tells me to shush, but I can’t. “But-but-”

“Quiet, Laine.” He murmurs, and Legolas shifts in his seat, staring at the simple ring gleaming in the shaded light.

“Sauron’s ring…the ring of power.”

“The doom of man!” A red-bearded dwarf stares grimly. The ring gleams innocently on its seat. A dark elf holds a hand over his mouth though, like its mere presence makes him feel ill. Figwit, I think. I look around, searching for Legolas’s captain Faenor, but he isn’t here. Is that it? What happened? I saw it!

“So it is true.” Boromir murmurs, oblivious to my confusion, before slowly getting to his feet. “I saw the eastern sky grow dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered. Out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying. ‘Seek for the sword that was broken…’”

I watch him carefully, breaths slowing, and he tells of this strange dream he had. Aragorn side-eyes him as he talks. As he does though, Boromir edges closer to the stone podium. I see everything there last night, the humor, the laughter, gone from his eyes. They’re focused intently, longing…hungry almost, dazed.

“…Isildur’s bane…” he murmurs, and suddenly, fingers outstretched, everything changes.

“ _Boromir_!”

I leap, grabbing my seat, and the sky goes dark. “Ash nazg durbatuluk. Ash nazg gimbatul!”

I cover my eyes, holding my wrist, and the mark of Sauron flares to life. It feels like tongues of flame lap at my skin for just a single instant and I bite my tongue so hard the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. Boromir collapses back in his chair, shaking. In the chaos, no one notices. No one cares. Gandalf is getting to his feet, leaning on his staff and chanting.

“Ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

“Stop…” I gasp, clutching my wrist. “God, stop!” Frodo is rigid; Legolas leans back in his chair, eyes pressed shut in pain… Only Elrond holds his head, exhaling slowly as the wizard finishes.

When all grows still again, when the shadow lifts, he mutters. “Never before has any voice _dared_ utter the words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey.”

“And let us hope that none will ever again!” answers Gandalf. “Nonetheless, I don’t ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For that tongue is soon to be heard in every corner of the West! The ring is altogether evil.”

I shudder, rubbing my wrist as the pain slowly ebbs away.

“No…” Boromir murmurs, inhaling through his teeth. “It is a _gift_...a gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use the Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay.”

Elrond doesn’t answer, but he narrows his eyes, stony mouth a thin line. In the corner of my eyes, Legolas shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yes… _elf._ Do not belittle the sacrifices my people have made. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. It is _our_ blood that thwarts the foul creatures of Mordor.”

The elf beside him snaps his fists closed, staring at the man with hard, resentful eyes. Legolas’s teeth grit; I can see it from here. Strange though, it makes him look no less pretty.

“Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy...” Boromir urges, looking to the men beside him. “Let us use it against him!”

“You cannot wield it. None of us can.” Estel says quietly, but so forceful it makes Boromir snap his mouth shut. “The one ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

Boromir turns around, cold. “And what would a _ranger_ know of this matter?”

I squint, looking at him. He’s a ranger? What’s a ranger?

And suddenly, Legolas leaps to his feet, static and his eyes flash. “This is no mere Ranger! He is Aragorn…son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance, mortal.”

I blink. Frodo stares. Even Boromir does, and they turn to look at Estel, questioning. _Who’s Arathorn?_ Why do I feel like I’m missing more than I should?

“Aragorn?” Boromir asks, “This is Isildur's heir?”

“And heir to the throne of Gondor.” Legolas says, almost smug.

_Heir to the throne…_ God, I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means.

“Havo dad, Legolas.” Aragorn mutters, lifting a hand, and I stare at him in shock.

“H-heir…?” I gape. “Like a king?”

Aragorn doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me, but he closes his mouth hard and I know it’s true.

“Gondor has no _king._ ” Boromir stares at him, before turning away. “Gondor needs no king.”

I look at Estel, eyes wide, but he doesn’t answer. He just drops his gaze, leaning back and fingering his palms, like the same thoughts have passed through his own mind.

“Aragorn is right,” Gandalf mutters finally, breaking the strange silence. “We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice, then.” Elrond looks up. “The ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” The red-haired dwarf booms, and before I know what’s happened, a giant axe slams down onto the pedestal and explodes. I wince, grabbing my head as the same images flash through it…bloody, mangled bodies…weeping children and tears running into red rivers…

Thankfully, when I look up this time, I know I’m not the only one who felt it. Elrond holds his head, looking pained; even Legolas flinches. He doesn’t look quite so pretty. Frodo, I realize looking at him, holds himself like someone hit him in the belly.

“The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom; it must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came! One of you…must do this.”

I swallow. Somewhere, I’m sure a cricket creaks.

And then Boromir, head in his hand, growls. “One does not simply _walk_ into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs.” He tells us of darkness, growing evil, evil that does not sleep.

I repeat it over and over in my mind, realizing what it is, what it felt like. It’s what this ring, what the eye and the black, snaked marking on my arm is. Evil…pure evil. I want to escape it, run anywhere, keep it away.

“Not with ten thousand men could you do this.” He finishes, and I look up shakily, feeling the darkness even in this beautiful place. It seeps ever closer, lingers at the edges like a monster just waiting to pounce. “It is folly.”

_No…_

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas grabs his armrests and looks around, saying emphatically. “The ring must be destroyed!”

Yes! I want to cheer him on, nodding vigorously in agreement, but I can’t. I want them to take that thing and destroy it. Can’t Boromir see that? Doesn’t he want to just melt it down, grind it up in little pieces and throw it away? I look at Legolas eagerly, forgetting my fury at him, and I want him to say more. Tell them to take it, go to this Mordor place…get rid of it!

“And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it?” Gimli roars.

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir snaps. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

“I’ll be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!” The dwarf leaps to his feet, and then, it’s chaos. The elves jump out of their chairs and Legolas throws his arms out, keeping them back. A storm erupts in the porch, and I look around, breathing fast. Angry faces…shaking fists…accusing fingers…Estel stays in his seat, looking through them, saddened almost, and I grip his arm.

“What’s happening?” I ask breathlessly. He just tightens his mouth.

Gimli stomps his boot. “Never trust an Elf!”

“You are right there.” Boromir states sarcastically.

“ _You_ said we should keep that thing!” I snap, suddenly angry. “How trustworthy are you?”

“We must.” Boromir hisses. “Not give it to one of _them_.”

At that, I jump out of my chair and push through them to face the man. “Stop saying that, already. It would be better off with one of them than l-letting _you_ try and use it!”

“What do you know, woman?” He snaps, spinning around. “You know nothing about the Eldar or their cowardly, dishonest ways.”

“What are you talking about?” I try to keep out the cacophony of arguing, shouting voices.

“You think they’re to be trusted? Your elf friend, has he happened to tell you that he’s the son of Thranduil?” Boromir lifts a finger, growling. “…the king who hides in his fortress while the rest of us _fight_ the evil from our brothers’ lands! They, who have lived next door to this evil for decades. He’s the prince of a pompous recluse!”

_A prince…_ I release a short gasp, freezing. Impossible!

Instantly, Legolas’s head snaps around from arguing with the dwarf. He glowers fiercely at the man…before turning to me. I stare in shock, unable to believe it. Legolas pauses, hand still in the air, and he looks at me with his lips parted, as if desperately wanting to explain.

And then, after the single instant of letting it sink in, putting the pieces together, I feel maddening tears swell in my eyes. They’re of hurt and betrayal, anger. I barely know him; there’s no rational reason. I shouldn’t care. But I do. I’m so angry I want to slap his perfect face. He let me say all those things, make an absolute idiot out of myself…in front of all those people! _The prince…_ oh god. How could I miss it?

“Rivers…” he starts, and I back away, grimacing in fury and confusion.

“You lied to me.” I can’t hear my own voice in the angry ones filling my ears and they bar him from my view. But I know he does. “You lied to me, you stupid elf!”

“While we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows!” Gandalf tries to say, gripping his staff. “No one will escape it. You will all be destroyed! Your homes burnt and your families put to the sword!”

And then…

“I will go.” Says a quiet voice, buried under the clutter of arguing.

I spin around, breathing hard, looking into the azure eyes of a trembling, dark haired hobbit. He stares, transfixed on the ring, before tearing his gaze away, looking around the gathering almost desperately. For an instant, I wonder if I heard right, and I hit the tears from my eyes, trying to keep myself composed.

“I will take it!” Frodo says louder, and then, Gandalf’s eyes slowly close, as if a great weight just sank over him. The porch quiets. I pant, staring at him, and he drops his eyes. “I will take the ring to Mordor.” Frodo looks carefully around the silent, astounded faces, before saying in a smaller voice. “Though…I do not know the way.”

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins.” Gandalf says gravely, before placing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “…as long as it is yours to bear.”

I look up with a start at Aragorn’s voice then. He slowly moves past, drawing his sword and placing the hilt in Frodo’s hands. “If by life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He kneels, looking up with fathomless eyes that I know would never lie. I stare, transfixed, blinking furiously. “You have my sword.”

“…And you have my bow.” Comes a voice, Legolas, and I watch him walk past me, wide-eyed. He grips the white wood in his hand, glancing to me only once…apologetic? Even as I try to comprehend the expression on his face, he comes to rest near Gandalf and Gimli follows.

“And _my_ axe.”

The dwarf glances gruffly up at Legolas, and then Boromir shifts on his feet. He moves forward a step.

“You carry the fate of us all, little one.” He inhales a deep, weary breath, glancing to Gandalf and Elrond, before saying more firmly. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

There’s not a hint of the same anger or desire in his eyes, and he closes his mouth hard, resting his hands on the pummel of his sword. All but Gimli tower over the small hobbit, like a great ring of valiant protectors. This was supposed to happen. I remember it now.

“Here!”

I look up with a start. Sam suddenly pops out from behind the shrubs. “Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!” he protests, running up, before planting himself at the hobbit’s side.

“No.” Elrond agrees grimly, the faintest smile quivering at his mouth. “Indeed...it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

Before I know it, Merry and Pippin have jumped up from behind the doorway and scrambled up the steps. “Oi! We’re coming too! You’ll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us.”

And suddenly, the overwhelming urge to join them shoots through me, and I fight it down. Nine men…and one me? This place must be making me as mad a hatter as the rest of these medieval knights.

“Anyway,” Pippin agrees jovially. “You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing.”

“Well, that rules you out, Pip.” Merry shoots a glance.

Elrond lifts a hand to his chin, thoughtful, studying them, and his eyes flick from one to the next. I swallow.

“As long as all here consider what choices they have.” The elf lord murmurs, lingering on me a moment too long. “…consider carefully.”

_I can’t stay here._

I grip my sweating fists tightly, remembering his words. They play in my head again as if he told them to me now, and I feel a sick twist in my stomach. I’m not crazy. I think craziness is forced upon me. I know exactly what he’s saying. The great elf lord wants me to think about going with them, get rid of me. He won’t let me stay here…not even if I beg? No. I don’t want to endanger his people, not if Sauron thinks there’s anything from me that could help him.

“L-lord Elrond,” I say quietly, heart hammering in my ears, “C-can I…” I don’t make it, because my throat seizes up. I can’t talk. _Oh, not now!_ Don’t do this to me; please not now!

“It is the choice of every one of you, of your own free will.” Elrond says, dark eyes drifting in my direction, a question. And suddenly, Boromir makes the connection.

“Lord Elrond, _surely_ you do not suggest-”

“No!” I shake my head vigorously, before walking as fast as possible to Aragorn’s side, a run. I spin around, half hiding behind his shoulder. “He’s not. _I_ am. I have to come. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Absolutely not.” The man looks away, and Gimli nods.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with him, lass.” He looks to Elrond’s grim expression. “Ye can’t fight. You’re a female, and you’ll only slow us up.”

I look between them desperately, picturing wandering out of Imladris by myself, living my life out in a dirty, medieval village as the strange, foreign serving wench. I can’t do it! I have to talk now, or they’ll do it for me.

“So what if I’m a girl!” I protest.

“Females are weak. No offense to you, but you are no shield-maiden.”

“Offense? Of course I’m offended, you-you male chauvinist!” I hiss, before spinning my head around, looking at Lord Elrond pleadingly. “Besides, the hobbits can’t fight. I know they can’t. They get to go!”

“The hobbits are companions to the Ring-bearer.” Gimli grunts doubtfully, watching their eager expressions glancing between us. And then, Aragorn places a hand on my shoulder. I look up as he does, startled, but his eyes are as calm as they always are.

“If the Lord of Imladris does not object, I believe the girl’s…unique knowledge could be of use to this company. I myself will train her to wield a sword, if that will ease the minds of some of us here.” He glances pointedly at Boromir.

And then, though I didn’t think it was possible, I’m shocked even more then.

“And…I will teach her the bow.” Legolas says quietly.

I blink, but any words of protest catch in my throat. He stares at me with an expression that I’ve never seen on his face before. Somewhere in the fathomless blue, like pools of pure water in the daylight, I don’t know what he’s thinking.

I’m too stunned to answer.

“Then let the ring-bearer decide.” Gandalf says, studying me carefully, and I turn hopefully to Frodo. The little hobbit is torn. I know it, because he looks from Boromir’s disapproving frown to me, back, and forth again. He doesn’t want to split the fellowship, yet he wants to be fair.

“Frodo…” I breathe, before dropping down on my knees. A desperate urgency wells and I look up. He just stares at me, his sorrowful gaze listening to me completely.

“I…I’m not from here, but I know things that will happen, the future. Don’t ask me how. I realize that you don’t know me well. I want to fix that…but please, _please_ believe me. I want more than anything to see that thing destroyed.”

His mouth closes tightly, thinking, and I close my fists.

“Trust me…more than you know, I _have_ to have it destroyed! Just as much as any of you.” I drop my voice. I can’t tell him the truth, not fully, but I hope it’s enough. “If it stays, if it lives to carry out Sauron’s plan, me and my whole world will be destroyed too. I-I can’t let that happen. I _have_ to help.”

Frodo nods slowly, before saying. “I know.”

Maybe he understands. Of course he does! The feeling of impending doom, having to do something, anything to keep it away. He won’t deny me that fight.

“Thank you.” I breathe, and he smiles, a brief glow lighting his burdened eyes.

“Ten companions.” Elrond says slowly, and as I get up, turning around, I shake my head quickly.

“No, nine.” It’s the way it’s been recorded, and that’s how it has to stay. “Nine…and me.”

The elf lord smiles slightly, just a quiver, before agreeing. “Nine, then.” He scans each face, lingering on Frodo a long minute, before proclaiming. “So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Pippin grins, oblivious to Boromir’s glare lingering above him, before nodding his curly head. “Great… Where are we going?”

I sigh, letting the hammering of my heartbeat subside a little. Gimli looks at me from under his helmet, and even though I can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, I smile apologetically. I have to do it, and yet I don’t want to make enemies from this decision. After all, I don’t have enough friends for that.

 

_______________________________________________________

“Frodo…?” I peer through the open doorway and into a sunny room. It took some looking, but the afternoon after the counsel’s adjournment, I find the hobbit and his friend, Bilbo talking together.

He looks up with a faint, tired smile. “Laine!”

“C-can I talk to you a second?”

“Come in.” he nods, waving me through.

I step inside, fidgeting, before saying shyly. “I just wanted to say thank you again, for not agreeing with Boromir and Gimli b-back there.”

Frodo nods slightly, a hint of a forced smile on his mouth. He looks exhausted. “Please don’t. It’s good you’re coming with us, I think.”

“Even though you don’t know me?”

He sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t know very many here at all. I have to trust Gandalf, I suppose.”

I shift a little uncomfortably. “Yeah, but not even he knows me.”

Then, he smiles a little. This time, it’s genuine. “I’m still glad you’re coming with us.”

I’m grateful for the gesture, but I just drop my eyes, feeling guilt creep into my stomach. I shouldn’t have told these people that I know what’s going to happen. What if their lives are on the line? What if they ask me what to do…? Somehow, I doubt all of these great, influential men are going to ask the opinion of a twenty-two year old girl. But it’s possible. Desperate people do desperate things.

“Okay then…thanks.” I answer anyway, shifting back. “He’s all yours, master Bilbo.”

The hobbit waves a cheery farewell, snowy-white hair ruffling in the breeze drifting through the windows. I return it a little weakly. He looks so old, next to Frodo, I can’t help feeling lonely at the sight of them together. He holds a long dagger in his lap, smiling as I slip out the door, and the ache wells in my chest again.

It’s sinking in, all of it. I really am here. I’ve really seen the things my eyes tell me. I really am all alone… The feel of my old denim jeans is the only comfort I have. _Going to Mordor…_ Me? Up until a day or two ago, I didn’t even think it existed! I thought I was just plain mad.

I look around, breathing deep and seeping it in. The sounds drifting to my ears…voices, laughter and singing…even the air feels foreign. It’s all surreal, like a strange and lonely dream. But I know I can’t wake out of it…not yet.

Suddenly, I snap my head up and gasp, nearly running into a very familiar chest.

“Boromir…” I breathe, clapping a fist to my stomach. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Laine.” The man states, and I freeze, surprised. There’s little humor in his voice now. He spares no greeting, not even a smile...His eyes are cold and hard. “You cannot be serious.”

“Serious…?” I blink.

“You cannot be thinking of joining the fellowship.” He says, gripping the sword strapped at his hip. It’s not a threatening gesture, more frustrated habit, but I can’t help the nervous tingle in the back of my neck. It bubbles up out of nowhere, and he shakes his head, coppery hair swishing. “Do you want to be killed? What were you _thinking_?” His gray eyes narrow fiercely. “This is not some _grand_ adventure we go on; this journey will be one of blood and death!”

“But Aragorn said I could go.”

He stiffens at the sound of the Ranger’s name, “And why did he do it? Tell me that.”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, backing away. Boromir reaches out and snatches my wrists, but not tightly, barring my escape. “Thanks for being concerned…b-but I’m not changing my mind.”

“ _Why_ did you volunteer?” he asks urgently. “Why did he let you?”

I shake my head, staring at his hands clamped around my arms. “What?”

“You _know_ what!” the man jolts me, before lifting a finger and his grip tightens. “You knew I disapproved. Why did you ask to join the fellowship? Why did Elrond and this…Aragorn… say yes to you? Even the _wizard_ gave his approval!”

“B-because I can help.” I gasp, trying to pull away. His iron grip tightens, and it doesn’t help the panicky feeling of fear shooting through my head. “I’ve seen things. I…I know things. I can help! I had to do it.”

“What are you talking about? You are a woman. You have no place amongst men.”

“Why?” I grimace, twisting in his grip. “Because you’re _so_ much superior? No wonder women liberated themselves back here!”

“Go home.” He commands. “Tell Lord Elrond that you’ve changed your mind.”

“I can’t!” my voice cracks, and I bite my cheeks to stop the tears. “And even if I could, I’m not going home until I see that thing _destroyed_.”

“You cannot know the future! How is it possible? Tell me Laine, that I may understand.”

“No…” I try to pull away. Even if I did know what was going to happen, how could I tell him? He doesn’t have the right to know!

I struggle, but he doesn’t let loose.

“Let me go!” I panic and pull violently out of his grasp.

His hands are like steel traps; I could never get out of them. But the instant he realizes he’s hurting me, he lets go. It’s a blur. I don’t think. Instantly, I scramble back and a glimpse of blonde jumps into focus.

I gasp in surprise, stumbling backward, before staring at Boromir’s fist, snatched and held still in a white-knuckled grip.

“Keep your hands off of her.” Legolas growls, eyes steely and refusing to let go even when the powerful man wrenches on his arm… before snapping him loose with a shove. I stare, unable to believe he had the strength to do that.

“ _Stay_ out of this, elf!” Boromir snaps, retaliating with a dangerous glare. “You’d like to see her traipse off into the woods to blood and death, then. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t believe she asked for your opinion on the matter.” He bites back.

And suddenly, I wonder if this was just an excuse to get his hands on the man. But he’s not as angry as I thought. His eyes are cold, but not furious…irritated. Before I can protest or even breathe, he instantly spins around, taking my arm and pulling me on.

“But-but-”

“Come on,” Legolas snaps, striding past so fast I run to keep up. But he surprises me even more then. “…please.”

The elf doesn’t stop until we break out into an open porch, looking over a spread of sheltered, leafed gardens. Two of the hobbits sit out on the shaded lawn, puffing over-sized pipes, large, hairy feet propped in the air. The scene is too open and peaceful for the turmoil that is my mind.

“What was that?” I gasp, pulling my wrist out of his hand. He spins around, facing me, and he looks around. I can almost see his pointed ears perk, as if making sure the man didn’t follow. I don’t care if he did.

“I don’t need your help, _highness_! Thank you very much, but I can take care of myself.” I glare furiously

“No, you cannot.” he disagrees, folding his arms over his chest. “And that is now obvious to me.”

“Who do you think you are?” I snap, before suddenly, I remember exactly who he is. The prince…the prince of some kingdom=. Why didn’t I realize it before now? Why couldn’t have I remembered it from those books? _Did I even get that far?_

“If the man saw fit, in another moment, you’d be nothing but a corpse on the ground. If a Gondorian woman said such things to the Steward’s son, that is precisely what you’d be.”

“Boromir wouldn’t do that!”

“Do not test him.” Legolas warns, before tilting an eyebrow, as if…amused?

He stands on both legs, boots spread and looking at me. Despite the fury at his silly expression, making me want to rant and fume, curse maybe…how can I? He just _stands_ there. He’s not even angry anymore, just watching.

“It is good you fascinate him, Rivers.” He murmurs. “Else a corpse is all you’d be.”

And then, staring at each other, his expression shifts; his mouth relaxes. From under dark, angular brows, I see a glimmer in the dark blue of his eyes. Even a tiny smile quivers at his mouth, standing staunchly, arms folded a few meters in front of me. What the-… _why is he smiling at me?_

“What do you want?” I snap. Laughter echoes through the trees from the hobbits. I ignore them, suddenly feeling my ears flush, even the tips.

He tilts his head to one side, inhaling deeply, before tapping one of his arms with his index finger. “Franky, I…would like to apologize, Rivers.”

I blink. “What are you talking about?”

“I would like to apologize.” The elf looks at me, strands of glossy hair gusting across his closed lips, and the dark tunic he wears flutters against his thighs in the wind.

I take a sharp breath, biting my tongue to stop myself, before spilling sarcastically. “Oh _apologize_ now _,_ is it _?”_ Now is my chance! Now I can be angry again. “For possibly what?”

He blinks. I know what he wants. He thinks he can keep up some ‘princely polite’ act by giving some lousy, flimsy apology and running off!

“For saying _Oh, Laine, that’s quite all right. We’re jolly good!_ last night?” I ask bitterly, slapping the hair out of my face. “Or taking my apology like a gentleman?”

Legolas fingers his folded arm, and his dark eyebrows quirk. That expression just makes me feel worse.

“Oh…” I throw my hands out sarcastically. “Is it just for treating me like a second rate rat invading your personal space in this grand old place. That I’m _so_ used to, by the way! Maybe for hiding your disdain for me _so_ well in front of Elladan and Elrohir?”

“Yes…” he murmurs slowly, squinting one eye. Then, he wrinkles his nose a little, as if remembering, before shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “…for that.”  

“Or!” I point at him. “ _I_ know what you mean. It’s for _lying_ to me, pretending all this time you weren’t a-” I choke on the word. “…a _prince_! Letting me play along with your little game the whole time I’ve been here, avoiding me like a jerk, and then letting me chat with the hobbits about you n-not even _knowing_ you really were some pompous royal ass. You couldn’t possibly be apologizing for that!”

He shrugs again, and a smirk plays around his mouth. I wanted to make him as angry as I am, upset that infuriating cool shivering off him. It doesn’t work. He just looks at me almost…impish.

“Yes…and that.” Legolas grins guiltily. His teeth sparkle in the sheltered sunlight and his face glows, as if transformed before my eyes from the elf I know. The anger, fury in his eyes is gone, every trace, leaving only a guilty boy.

“Why did you do it?” I growl, squashing the thought down. I’m supposed to be angry. I _am_ angry.

He tilts his head again, about to answer me, but I don’t give him a chance.

“Why did you stick up for me at the counsel?” My voice cracks. “To get my hopes up and then back out later? Or maybe just keep up a ‘I’m a nice princeling even to the commoners’ façade!”  

The elf blinks, surprised. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell them how much you _obviously_ can’t stand me?” I explain at his stunned expression. “You’re a damn prince, for God’s sake! They would have _listened_ to you if you protested. Why’d you say you would help me?”

His face contorts into an exaggerated, disapproving frown at my expletive, but I’m past caring. I want to know.

“Because I meant it, obviously.” Legolas unfolds his arms.

I grimace, refusing to believe it.

At that, the elf gestures to the spreading trees of Imladris. “If you are willing to learn, I will _teach_ you to defend yourself with the bow, Rivers. I said that I would, did I not?”

“ _Why?_ Why would you possibly do that for me? Where’s the catch?” I glower, panting hard. “And what makes you think I’d do that after what you did to me?”

He laughs slightly. “I never said that I was not the crown prince of my realm, _Lady_ Rivers, or that my father was not the king. I did not lie to you.”

“Y-you-“ I splutter. “You didn’t _tell_ me!”

He shrugs noncommittally, before scratching a spot just below his left ear. “You didn’t asked.”

“Oh…” I shake my head, groaning. “Don’t you dare.”

“No one is forcing you to learn.” He sighs. “I said that to appease the counsel. They would not have let you go so easily without that promise, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” I laugh sarcastically. “That’s another thing. Women around here either have to be some kind of Xena _super_ warrior, or a kitchen wench!”

“Which do you want to be?” He asks bluntly, before grinning. “Or rather, with _what_ would you rather fight the dark forces of Mordor… a bow or a dishrag? Your choice.”

“Oh, you’re just so funny.” I scoff, wondering where this sick sense of humor has come from. I look at him in disbelief, watching his grin turn to a childish smirk. I never saw him like this before…He glows. Was I too miserable to see it? Or was he too miserable to show me?

“Does that mean you accept my offer?”

I shake my head, looking away.

“Do as you please, Rivers. My proposal stands.”

And then, I look at him. From the edge of my eyes, I see his expression, waiting patiently. _Is he serious?_ Are those expectant blue eyes innocent, or mischievous…or deceiving? I don’t know!

“I…” I look down, wringing my hands together, before muttering. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” he says slowly, walking towards me, placing one boot in front of the other. He comes to a halt then, lifting his head so he can stare down his nose at me, smirking. “If you make up your mind, meet me in the training grounds at dusk…and every subsequent evening after that. Aragorn tells me you will train with him at sunrise.”

I nod reluctantly.

“Good.” Then, he stands up straighter and shakes his head, as if catching a sweet scent from somewhere. I just stare, unable to believe the difference I see. It’s like a darkness, a weight is lifted from his eyes and he could fly, a feather buffeted on the wind. “Well, I will be practicing _my_ archery, in any case. Whether you plan to join me or not…farewell, Rivers.”

I sigh, looking away as he walks past. “See you…your highness.” _Maybe._ The words leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Either way, as he strides off with a hint of a bounce in his step, I turn away, staring out through the whispering trees. Dappled sunlight pours through the leaves, and the scent of cherry blossoms fill the air. I soon find though that the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, no longer smoke alone. A gray clad ‘wizard’ puffs with them, listening to their chatter with a tiny smile. As I stare, his eyes… flick upward, and though I’m not quite sure how I can see it, they touch me once.

_Come, child…_

I blink. Why do I keep hearing these things? Am I really going insane? But then, the old man lifts a hand and surreptitiously beckons with two fingers. I stare, tilting an eyebrow. Oh well…What’s the harm? Hearing voices in my head isn’t any stranger than elves with wild mood changes, flaming eyes in the night, or wizards in pointed hats… Right?

“Hi.” I sigh, coming down the steps and moving through the grass. I collapse down beside.

“Laine!” Pippin raises his pipe in salute, before smiling crookedly. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh really?” I look between them. “You didn’t hear all of that back there, did you?” I ask warily, pointing to the porch with a thumb.

Pippin blinks. “All of what?”

“Nope.” Merry grins.

Gandalf on a nearby bench just smiles.

“Me and Pip were wonderin’,” The hobbit leans forward from the tree and props an arm on his knees, before dropping his voice to a conspiring whisper. “Where did this delightful word come from?”

“What word?” I shuffle down cross-legged. Even settling down here though, I feel a little better. That elf isn’t going to ruin any more of my day. Not if I can help it.

‘Okay’. Pippin enunciates very clearly. “Gandalf has never heard of it before, either. And he’s been to lots of places!”

I nearly laugh, sighing. “Not to where I’m from.”

“I’ll bet he has.” Pippin points with his pipe, narrowing his eyes. “Haven’t you, Gandalf? You know where Laine’s from, don’t you?”

In answer, he just shrugs a little, leaning back. “Where the lady is from is not really the issue, young hobbit. Anyone can tell you where they’ve been. Anyone can tell you where they are now. Now, where they’re _going…_ that’s another matter entirely.”

The wizard’s slow, rhythmic gusts of smoke pause. I glance up, and there’s a strange, mysterious twinkle glittering through one of his eyes. I stare a long moment, watching them study me, before glancing away, uncomfortable. Weird old man.

“So,” I ask eventually. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s off in the kitchen, planning what to take already.”

“I thought it was going to be at least a month before we leave…?” I squint, glancing between them.

“Indeed.” Gandalf says quietly, before muttering with a pointed glance. “Some of us believe in being prepared.”

I swallow, shifting on my seat in the grass. It’s coming. _It’s coming._ I know it’s coming!

“ _Speaking_ of being prepared,” The wizard speaks up with a smirk, as if an afterthought. I nearly groan.

“I’m _learning_ to use a sword with Este- I mean Aragorn. I’m even thinking of asking Lord Elrond for my gun back, just in case.”

“I was thinking of the archery lessons.” He lifts a heavy gray brow.

“From Legolas?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think _he_ can help me, in anything.” I drop my head, ignoring the curious glance the hobbits throw me. “Besides, why should I? After what he did to me?”

He nods slowly, but I know he doesn’t agree.

“Legolas is…- How shall I put it?” Gandalf leans back again, placing the pipe between his teeth and folding his arms in his lap. “…considered to be the finest archer in the Woodland Realm.” He glances down from the corner of his creased eyes. They’re smiling even if his mouth is not. “And Mirkwood is home to the finest warriors in Arda.”

I swallow. Really, I should have known. He’s beautiful, a prince…and now practically the best archer in Middle Earth? I’m hating him more and more by the day.

“Private tutelage…” Gandalf murmurs. “You’d be wise to consider such an offer wisely, Laine Rivers.”

“I’ll…think about it.” I mutter, looking down.

I’m not so sure about the ‘fighting with sharp objects’ part, but apart from Elrond and this wizard, Aragorn is the only one who knows almost as much about my situation as I do. In the books that I didn’t particularly like, he was the only one that I did. He always seemed to be…a rock, a safe place. The panicky feelings that flutter through my belly in this place seem to still when he’s near. Gandalf is…different.

It’s nothing compared to Legolas, but when he’s around, I feel like he sees straight through my eyes and into my very soul. Aragorn’s cool gray eyes are keen, but when he looks at me, he just looks. I feel he knows, and yet doesn’t judge.

“So,” Pippin breaks through my gradually settling thoughts, looking around. “Who’s up for dinner?”

I smile.

 

     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**A/N: Okay! Actually, traditional archery is incredibly fun. When bow hunting is in season around here, my brother spends hours hunting deer that way. Just making sure no one gets the wrong impression about shooting a bow, whatever Laine’s experiences might be!**

**Anyways, feedback is very welcome, as always positive or not. By the way, August 21 st is Fanfiction Appreciation Day! Have a good day, readers. :))   **

 

 

 

 

 

 


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